


reciprocity

by markohmark



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Friendship, Growing Up, M/M, Mathematics, Pining, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, mark is afraid but he learns it's ok ykno ;;__;;, slight side ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markohmark/pseuds/markohmark
Summary: "What changed?" Donghyuck asks softly. His thumb rubs the back of Mark's hand gently.Donghyuck's close. Too close. The washing machine stops, indicating the end of the wash cycle. The two of them are surrounded by an eerie silence. It rings in Mark's ears."I grew up," Mark replies. He holds Donghyuck's gaze, watching as Donghyuck leans in. His heart rattles in his chest; he's past the speed of hummingbirds now. His hyperactive, buzzing, washing-machine heart.





	1. PART ONE: SIEVE OF ERATOSTHENES

**Author's Note:**

> so. i took it down because i got anon hate for it (even tho i posted it anonymously) but. i need to get this out there in the world.
> 
> thanks to k. for reading this over and d. for going over this literally line by line... i love Her
> 
>  
> 
> [playlist <3](https://open.spotify.com/user/z1327gp9yzcuil07t42kpavqi/playlist/1MW7cPEcGofNZD2xvw0srU?si=2yv7VfWKRm6ua2lshaQlMw)

Mark pauses before he opens the door, hand on the doorknob.

“Are you ready?” he asks, looking over his shoulder to Jeno, his new roommate for the summer.

Jeno shrugs. He has a box fan under his arms—which is necessary, since, as one of the counselors so helpfully informed them as they walked up, the dorms lack air-conditioning—and a human-sized suitcase behind him.

“Yeah,” Jeno says. “Just open the damn door.” The mid-day heat’s starting to get to them all, leaving everyone more irritable than usual.

Mark enters the room. It’s a typical college dorm, completely symmetrical—two beds and two desks and two closets, the room evenly split in halves.

He immediately heads for the window, opening the latch to prop it open. A rush of warm hits his face. Sadly, the summer breeze does _not_ mitigate the sweltering heat.

“How’s the view?” Jeno asks, voice muffled as he peeks into the closet.

“It’s nice,” Mark calls back. Despite the lack of air-conditioning, the view more than makes up for it. From ten stories up, he can see out across the street to the rest of the campus.

The Charles River glimmers in the distance. For six weeks, this room—this city, Boston—will be his new home for the summer.

“Let’s try to set up the fan first,” Jeno says, joining him in front of the window. “It’s heckin’ hot in here.” He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the sunlight the way a cat would, before turning back to face the interior of the room.

Assembling the fan, though, is easier said than done.

Mark squints at Jeno, who’s currently in the middle of figuring out which way the front piece is supposed to be attached.

“Are you sure,” Mark begins, for the fifth time within the past couple of minutes, “that this doesn’t come without instruc—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jeno interrupts. “I had this fan at Cornell, too, last summer.”

“The dorms had A/C at Cornell,” he points out. Jeno had also been roommates with Jaemin Na, genius extraordinaire and whiz at putting things together and pulling them apart. Though, with someone like Jaemin, Mark supposes he had more experience playing around with hearts rather than technology.

Mark pulls out his phone. “Look, maybe there’s something online.” Right at the top of his notifications is a text from Jaemin himself.

Speak of the devil. Jaemin _did_ have a hellish streak to him, sometimes, especially when he was possessive over Jeno’s affection or in the mood for pranks.

 **Nana <333:** markie!!! i reached the dorms!!  
**Nana <333:** what room r u in jeno in?  
**Nana <333:** jeno wont answer my texts T-T

“Jeno, check your messages,” Mark calls out on autopilot, replying to Jaemin with their room number. Mark’s all too used to Jaemin’s anxious _where is jeno_ texts. Last summer, chances were that Jeno was either A) hanging out with Mark or B) sleeping if he wasn’t with Jaemin.

Jeno sighs. “I forgot _this_ would start,” he mumbles, rummaging through his pockets. He pulls out a deck of cards, five quarters, and a twenty-dollar bill from his shorts before he manages to find his phone. His eyes widen when he taps on the screen.

“How many messages?” Mark asks, grinning.

“Shut up,” Jeno shoots back. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like _that_ isn’t telling at all.” Mark’s phone dings with a notification.

 **Nana <333:** kk i’m coming~ i’ve missed u

All of a sudden, someone begins to knock on their door. Mark means knocking in the vaguest sense of the word, though, because it sounds more similar to the hard-hitting bass of his favorite Kendrick Lamar song. Which is to say, Jaemin Na—because who the hell _else_ would it be—sounds like he’s three seconds from knocking their door down.

Mark and Jeno look at each other for a moment, eyes wide. It’s hard to process, in some ways, that Jaemin will be in his life once again.

“Let me in!” Jaemin calls, voice muffled.

Mark rolls his eyes as he opens the door. “You seriously couldn’t wait—”

“Mark!” Jaemin interrupts, engulfing him in a hug. They’ve both changed, Mark realizes with a start. Jaemin’s shoulders are broader, now, and his hair color is a calmer sandy brown instead of the pink he had last summer. Mark’s different, too, a little taller and stronger—with a better haircut, too, though he’s never been adventurous enough to wreck his scalp with bleach and dye.

Jaemin doesn’t even bother for words before he turns to Jeno. It’s hard for Mark to watch them embrace, makes him feels like he’s intruding on something precious and private. Instead, he turns to the door and pretends to organize his closet.

“Mark, what’re you doing?” Jeno asks after a couple of moments. “We still have this damn fan to set up.”

Jaemin looks at the mess of components spread out on the carpet with an amused smile. “Were you trying to assemble the fan or create a piece of modern art?” he asks.

Mark joins them in the center of the room. “Jeno claims this fan never came with instructions.”

Jaemin sighs dramatically. “What would you guys without me?” he asks, grabbing Mark’s shoulder for support when Jeno shoves him away.

“Be a lot happier,” Jeno says, hand reaching to grab Jaemin’s wrist. He tugs Jaemin closer to him.

“Melt?” Mark suggests, rolling his eyes. “Can you just set it up already...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaemin says. “I was literally doing this ten minutes ago with Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck?” Mark asks. The name seems familiar, probably a result of the competition math circuit or his Facebook feed.

“Yeah, Donghyuck Lee, my roommate,” Jaemin says, looking down at the components of the fan and starting to fasten pieces together. Already, the tone of his voice has changed, shifting into the slightly distracted timbre Mark knows all too well. Jaemin’s _focused_.

“Donghyuck Lee,” Jeno repeats, already typing his name into the Facebook app. “Oh, he’s from San Jose. Damn, NorCal boy coming in from across the country.”

“East coast best coast,” Mark says instinctively. “What’s he doing right now?”

“Napping, I think?” Jaemin replies, fingers deftly screwing the grate of the fan together. “Didn’t say much.”

Jeno silently shows Donghyuck’s Facebook profile picture. _He’s cute,_ Jeno mouths silently. Mark can see it, from the dyed-brown hair to the curve of his blinding smile.

Mark shrugs in response to Jeno’s expectant smile. He’s never been interested in relationships—or pseudo-relationships, a la Jeno and Jaemin—over the course of a summer. He comes to math programs to learn math, not to chase after the ephemeral sort of love that seems more like a mirage formed by the summer heat. Once the temperature has lowered, once the blind spots have disappeared, that sort of summer magic seems almost foolish.

New Jersey’s winters, at the very least, have done a very good job at freezing away anything Mark feels through the course of the school year.

A short knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.

“You answer it,” Jeno says, focused on his phone. He’s playing one of those stupid, cutesy cat games—Neko Atsume, most likely—and his phone emits a _meow_ every couple of minutes.

Jaemin’s still busy with the fan. Mark sighs as he stands up.

“I think the door’s unlocked,” he calls, swinging the door open. There’s a counselor standing outside—Mark can easily identify him from the nerdy math T-shirt.

“Well, about that,” the counselor begins, pursing his lips. He seems almost intimidating, despite his lanky build and bifocals. It’s the intensity of his gaze, focused and powerful. “You should keep your door locked, at least when you aren’t inside. Robberies do sometimes happen in the dorms—mostly mattresses, but sometimes the legitimate kinds as well.”

“Alright, we’ll do that,” Mark replies, internally wondering why anyone would bother stealing the cheap hard-as-rock dorm mattresses.

He stares at the counselor expectantly, wondering why the guy’s still here.

“Oh, I’m Doyoung, by the way,” the counselor says, looking down at the sheet of paper in his hands. “I’m your counselor. You must be—” he looks down at the paper, considering— “Uh, either Mark or Jeno. There’s a fifty-percent chance. Let’s see...”

Before Mark can respond, Jaemin appears at his side. “Hey, Doyoung,” he says with a grin, reaching out to shake Doyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Doyoung’s starting to smile back, albeit a little hesitantly. Damn Jaemin Na, always ready to charm everyone.

Jeno shows up on the other side of Mark, regarding Doyoung quizzically.

“Oh, there are _three_ of you,” Doyoung says. “Thirty-three percent chance, then.”

Jaemin opens his mouth, about to reply, when Mark elbows him quietly in the side to silence him.

“Um, so, well,” Mark begins. “I’m Mark, and that’s—” he points towards Jeno— ”my roommate, Jeno.”

“I’m Jaemin,” Jaemin volunteers, unnecessarily.

“That’s nice.” Doyoung flashes a smile at Jaemin, an evolved sort of grimace, before turning towards Mark and Jeno. “All the campers have Orientation—just ground rules, that sort of stuff—in about fifteen, so I suggest you three head over there. It’s mandatory.”

Orientation is eighty teenagers and twenty counselors sitting together, cross-legged, in a large room. It would be bearable, Mark thinks, except for one issue: there’s no air conditioning. Mark can barely concentrate as the head counselors—Johnny, Taeil, and Seulgi—discuss the camp’s rules and procedures.

Mark tries his best to catch the important parts, but it’s just too _hot_. The world blurs in front of him. At first he thinks it’s a mirage, before realizing that his glasses have slid down the slope of his nose.

“You hand in your problem set to your counselor at the end of every night,” Johnny says, “And usually they go over it with you…”

Half of what’s said goes through one ear and out the other as Mark stares up at the counselors in a heat-dazed haze.

There are some good sides to Orientation, though: Mark finally meets resident NorCal sunshine boy Donghyuck Lee.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, Donghyuck,” Mark whispers. “I’m Mark.”

Renjun, Jaemin’s online friend—apparently they started talking off of MathOverflow Stack Exchange, which Mark will never _not_ find shady—sits between them, but Mark leans in towards Donghyuck behind his back. Renjun helpfully scoots forward so that Mark doesn’t collide with him.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck whispers back. “I heard you’re from BCA. Best of Bergen County and hella smart and all that, yeah?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I get too much clout from BCA,” he says. “It’s just a high school, damn.” Granted, it’s a magnet high school, reserved for the brightest minds of Bergen County, New Jersey, but Mark can safely say he is not one of the few truly smart kids at the school.

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Did you just use the word _clout_ unironically?” He’s got a pleasant voice, almost sweet-sounding. Mark leans in closer.

“Shut the—” Mark breaks off, realizing that he probably doesn’t know Donghyuck well enough to curse him out as a joke. “I heard you’re from Lynbrook,” he counters. “Fifty-percent Asian, right?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes at that. “Closer to, like, seventy-percent, but yeah,” he replies. “It’s hella, ah, homogenous? But whatever.”

 _Homogenous_ , Mark mouths silently. So Donghyuck’s _that_ kind of smart. Mark likes him already.

Jaemin, on the other side of Mark, nudges him. “Pay attention. I think Doyoung’s looking at you.”

Mark snaps his head towards Doyoung, surprised. Doyoung looks back at him blankly—he’s got a serious case of Resting Bitch Face—before winking and shifting his gaze back towards Johnny.

“That your counselor?” Donghyuck asks. In an attempt to speak quieter, he leans in closer to whisper directly against Mark’s ear. It tickles.

Mark nods. In front of him, Jaemin pokes Renjun and gestures towards Mark and Donghyuck. Renjun turns back towards them and smiles ruefully before scooting backward to force them apart.

“Sorry,” Renjun whispers to Mark, tone light and teasing. “Y’all can continue flirting later, right? Kinda don’t want our counselors to hate us already, if you know what I mean.”

Mark ignores the flirting comment and resolutely tears his attention away from Donghyuck, trying to focus on whatever Taeil’s talking about now. Thankfully, Orientation doesn’t continue for long after and the students are dismissed for dinner.

The dining hall is nothing to write home about, especially compared to Cornell’s organic vegetables and farm-fresh ice cream, but it’s edible. The five of them, ravenous, quickly consume the mediocre fare.

“Guys, _guys_ ,” Jaemin says between bites of his stir-fry. “We should go out to the docks.”

Renjun tilts his head. “Near the river, or near the Atlantic?” he asks.

Jaemin laughs at that. “Near the river, of course. The ocean’s like—” he gestures vaguely towards the windows overlooking the city streets— “way over there, _somewhere,_ and probably an hour by walking.”

“Over there, somewhere,” Donghyuck repeats, skeptical. “Do you know how to get to the river, at least?”

“Is it even allowed?” Jeno asks.

Jaemin grins at them. “Why do you think I was actually paying attention to what they said?” he replies. “They mentioned curfew, daily problem sets, morning lecture—” he counts these off on his fingers— “and basically said that so long as we turn in psets at the end of the day and show up at lecture, we can do whatever.”

“Johnny _did_ mention that curfew’s at 11 pm on weeknights,” Donghyuck adds slowly. Hesitantly, he returns Jaemin’s smile.

“Okay, I’m sold,” Mark says. There’s no point in trying to delay the inevitable. What Jaemin wants, Jaemin _gets_. “What do you guys think?”

“Sure, I guess,” Renjun says. “But if Jaemin gets us lost…” He trails off threateningly.

Jaemin, as always, knows where he’s going. At least this time he has a reason for being able to navigate Boston’s streets so deftly—he’s from Lexington, just fifteen minutes from the city—but Mark will never stop being surprised at all the things that Jaemin has contained within his head.

“Oh my god, Jeno, what a _hottie_ ,” Jaemin says, leering at Jeno.

Case in point. As always, the lenses of Jeno’s glasses darken almost immediately after stepping in the sunlight.

“Shut the—” Jeno begins to say, before shaking his head. He never swears if he can help it, especially not at Jaemin.

“Transition lenses, though?” Donghyuck asks, tilting his head. “Why?”

Jeno shrugs. “They just came like this, I have no heckin’ clue why.”

“Doesn’t matter why,” Jaemin replies. “It’s hilarious.”

Renjun stifles a snort at that.

“Alright,” Jaemin says, after they pass through a smelly alleyway. He points ahead of them. “Once we cross the bridge, we’ll be at the Esplanade.”

The bridge stretches across a busy four-lane highway, the cars whizzing below them with every second. Jeno pauses in the middle to take a photo, and Mark waits for him.

“Still a master photographer?” Mark asks, teasing. He doesn’t need to ask, not really—he follows Jeno on his VSCO, his photography Instagram too, and Jeno’s _good_ at this.

“What d’you think?” Jeno asks, showing the picture to Mark. He’s captured the blurry lights in motion, the forward momentum that seems to jump out of the static picture.

“Damn.” Mark looks down at the highway, then back at the photograph again. In some ways, he prefers the photograph to real life. “Did the parents let you bring your DSLR, though?”

Jeno crosses his arms at that, pouting. “No, they insisted that it was too expensive.”

“It be like that,” Renjun says wisely.

Jeno laughs at that—he’s always laughter-happy, the guy—and grabs onto Mark’s shoulder for support.

“COME ON, GUYS!” Jaemin calls, from the other end of the bridge. He’s waving at them impatiently, Donghyuck beside him. “We’re waiting!”

After crossing, they reach the grassy area surrounding the Charles River. The Esplanade, as Jaemin had so fancifully called it. The sun is almost about to set, and everything feels on the cusp of something bigger. Mark can feel it rustling through the blades of grass, pulsing through his veins.

“Where are the docks?” Donghyuck asks. He keeps looking around, eyes wide, as if he wants to imprint every detail onto his irises.

Jaemin points to the right. “Once we walk straight for a bit, you’ll see.”

The thickets surrounding the river almost hide the entrance to the pier. Just a couple steps through soft dirt, and they reach the wooden planks of the dock.

It’s sturdy, but Mark can sense the hidden power of the Charles River flowing underneath his feet. He grabs onto Donghyuck’s wrist for a moment.

Donghyuck looks at him, confused. “Yeah?”

“Nothing.” He lets go, sitting down as fast as possible. Now that he’s no longer standing, the water doesn’t seem so intimidating.

Donghyuck takes his sandals off to dangle his feet in the water. To Mark’s left, Jaemin and Renjun are involved in some sort of verbal sparring, and Jeno amuses himself with taking photos of the skyline.

Mark does his own share of trying to savor the moment, watching as Donghyuck traces shapes onto the surface of the water, distorted into twisted shapes. The sky fills with vivid colors as the sun sets; it seems almost too bright.

The reddish glow of the sunset reflects against Donghyuck’s cheekbones, rendering his face a mix of golden-warm colors. It takes too long for Mark to realize he’s staring, to look _away_. Donghyuck’s the type of person that it hurts to look at for too long, in some ways.

“This day felt too short,” Mark says, dipping his hand into the water. The coldness of it shocks him into reality. “Yet so long, at the same time.”

Donghyuck smiles at that. “That’s a contradiction,” he points out. He seems delighted by the fact rather than confused.

“There are a lot of contradictions in the world,” Jaemin says.

“And the perception of time is always fucked, right?” Renjun says.

Jaemin snaps his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

“These six weeks will pass before we know it,” Jeno says, looking over at Jaemin. “Bet.”

“Bet.”

Mark looks out to the river, to the sky, to Cambridge on the other side of the water. Boston is so beautiful, under the scarlet and violet sky, and he’s filled with hope for the days to come.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

Mark, never till the day he’ll die, ever thought he’d see Jeno Lee pissed off. Pissed off at him, Mark Lee? Impossible, even. This had been a fact Mark accepted as a fact of life, as basic as the equality axiom.

Yet here lies a counterexample: Jeno looming over him, arms crossed and mouth forming words that he can’t even make out—

Oh, _fuck_. Mark reaches behind blindly, fumbling around until he makes contact with his phone and—thankfully—shuts off the alarm with his eyes closed.

“It went off _ten_ times,” Jeno repeats, now that Mark can properly hear him. “Ten! At _ass o’clock_ in the morning.”

Jeno’s eyes widen, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Mmf,” he says into his palm. Mark’s pretty sure it’s another swear.

Mark laughs, almost too sleep-bleary to think straight. “Just wait till, uh, Nana hears about this,” he says. “Lee Jeno… swearing…”

Jeno scowls, opening his mouth to say something else, but Mark goes back to sleep.

If this were an ideal world, Mark would stay in his bed for the next couple of hours. And he does, for a little while. But, as Renjun had said yesterday, _the perception of time is fucked_ , and before Mark knows it he has dragged himself to morning lecture with Jaemin and Donghyuck by his side. Jeno, still abashed, sits a row away with Renjun.

Lecture is better than Mark expects, though. He’s enthralled as the professor discusses what truly defines an integer.

“To think deeply of simple things,” Professor Kwon says. “That’s the guiding principle of this program. I hope you can apply it to your own life, as well.”

Mark tries to take notes, but Professor Kwon moves faster than a driver at the Daytona 500. Lecturing seems like an extreme sport in and of itself—the second she’s done scribbling on one blackboard, she pushes it up and writes on the one underneath, a mess of erasing and writing and erasing and—

When the lecture is finished, Mark looks over to his left. Beside him, Jaemin didn’t even take out a damn pencil. In a typical Jaemin fashion, he still participated the most and managed to listen attentively anyway.

Donghyuck nudges Mark. “Will he remember everything without notes?” They watch Jaemin in silence, for a moment.

“Believe me,” Mark replies. “He will.”

“So, now that lecture’s finished,” Johnny says, raising his voice over the clamor of students getting up to leave, “we’ll be passing out the first pset—problem set, I mean. Remember, you’re expected to hand it in by the end of tonight.”

“ _Please_ don’t hand it in too late,” Taeil adds. “ _Please_. Believe it or not, the counselors do value getting sleep.”

“What d’you call late, old man!” one of the second-year students calls, grinning. There’s a bout of laughter that ends quickly as everyone waits for his reaction.

Taeil pinches the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths. “Before midnight for this week, at least.”

As the students stream out of the lecture hall, they pick up the problem sets at the exit. Mark takes a quick skim over the questions: _Consider the set of polynomials in x with coefficients in Z_x… Compare the following mathematical systems with each other… For all a,b,c ∈ Z show that…_

Donghyuck grabs his wrist. “Why’re you just standing there?” he asks, tilting his head. “Come on, let’s go pset.” Jaemin and Jeno are a couple yards ahead of them, Renjun leading the way.

“Pset?” Mark asks. His head’s spinning from what he just read. The problem set looks intimidating, with the ring notation and what the more eloquent would describe as _antiquated verbiage_. “Is it a verb now?”

“Language is fluid, isn’t it?” Donghyuck counters. “Like Google is a verb and a noun and a soul-sucking Silicon Valley company.”

“And a number,” Mark reminds him. Before anything else, googol was 10^100.

“What about numbers?” Jeno asks, now that the five of them have finally caught up with each other.

“Nothing, I guess,” Mark replies. From the way Jeno smiles at him, it seems safe to say that he’s no longer pissed off, thank god.

“The pset has a lot of them,” Donghyuck offers, as they push open the door to enter the library. “I don’t know if— _shit,_ it’s cold!”

“Shh,” Renjun says. The librarian is already glaring at the five of them, and it’s been thirty seconds.

“It’s _freezing_ ,” Jeno whispers, rubbing his shoulders mournfully. He’s wearing a muscle tank that leaves his arms completely bare.

“Your fault for wearing something so—” Jaemin breaks off, shaking his head as they navigate through the maze of bookshelves. “I have a sweatshirt, dumbass.”

Eventually, they find a secluded corner behind the Mystery Fiction section, far from the eyes of the nearest librarian. Mark gets started on the problem set as fast as possible. The preliminary problems aren’t as bad as he expected; it starts off slow, asking about what different symbols mean, like N standing for the natural numbers and Q for the rationals.

“Is the sieve of—” Renjun hesitates as he reads off the problem set— “Eras-whatever just when you do the grid thing and cross stuff out?”

“The sieve of Eratosthenes,” Donghyuck says. He’s already started making his grid, pen moving deftly as he crosses out row after row of composite numbers. “Just filtering out the bad shit to find the good stuff: the primes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renjun says. “Honestly, it’s faster to just list them instead of writing it out.”

“It’s so satisfying, though,” Donghyuck muses. “Right?”

Mark shrugs. “Never really thought about it.”

It takes a while, at least an hour or two, before Mark feels—stuck. He sucks in a deep breath, willing himself to calm down—he can do this, he can solve the problem, _he can_. He looks around for a second.

Donghyuck has his earbuds in, listening to music. Renjun’s typing on his phone furiously, face blank in a way that betrays pent-up emotion.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, leaning over to whisper to him.

Renjun flinches away, setting his phone face-down onto the surface of the table. Jaemin looks up, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Renjun says, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Parents. It’s… whatever.”

Mark looks over at Jaemin, who shakes his head subtly. _Don’t,_ he mouths.

He wishes he could ignore the problems in front of him as easily. As the hours pass, the one problem he had been stuck on earlier still remains unsolved.

“What time is it?” Jeno asks, stretching his arms out as he yawns.

“Uh,” Jaemin pauses the video on his laptop—most likely anime, if his tastes are the same as last year—and checks the time. “It’s 4:17 right now.”

“Are you guys done?” Mark asks. Jaemin’s been sharing his earbuds with Renjun for the past thirty-minutes, the two of them watching something together.

Jaemin shrugs. “Only have the last problem left, and it’s just the write-up.”

Mark glances down at his own work. He’s still got three questions left, and it leaves him with a crushing sense of inadequacy. It’s overwhelming, a tsunami of doubts that floods through his veins— _of course you’re behind, of course you are_ —that feels more real than the problem set in front of him.

 _Are you okay?_ Donghyuck mouths at him, eyes wide with concern.

Mark shrugs. “How many questions do you have left?” he whispers, leaning across the table.

“Three,” Donghyuck says. Something about it wrings a sense of relief in Mark’s chest.

“I think I’m… stuck,” Mark replies, hesitant at first but gaining confidence as he looks at Donghyuck. “I’ve been on this problem for the past hour.”

“Just ask Jaemin for a hint,” Donghyuck says, reading the problem. Out of his mouth, everything sounds so simple. “Yeah, I haven’t done that one yet either.”

“What?” Jaemin asks, removing an earbud. “Did someone say my name?”

“I don’t get this part,” Mark says, pointing at the said question on the problem set. “Like, what are they asking with the rings?”

“A ring is a field without a multiplicative inverse,” Jaemin responds automatically. “I mean, uh, let me take a look—Renjun, can you switch seats with me?"

Soon Jaemin's settled next to him, leaning close and furrowing his eyebrows as he reads the question. "Oh, yeah, this one," he says. "It's hard if you can't really tell the difference between a ring and a field."

"So, like, a ring is defined by the axioms," Jaemin says. He rips out a sheet of paper from the back of Mark's notebook and starts scribbling on it. "You remember them from lecture, right?"

"Yeah," Mark says. "Like associativity and commutativity with addition."

"Yes, exactly," Jaemin says, snapping his fingers together. "What would be an example of a ring?"

"Um," Mark says. It takes a bit of time for him to think this out. Mark hates being put on the spot; the thought of disappointing Jaemin is stressful. "The integers, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Jaemin says. "Honestly, ring is just a name for the set. Just like how, if I were to say cat, you'd think of Jeno and like, the cat videos you see on Facebook, not what the definition of a cat is."

He opens the browser on his phone. "Which would be a _'small domesticated carnivorous mammal with soft fur, a short snout, and retractable claws.'_ "

"Does that make sense?" Jaemin asks. "Try to think about what rings and fields are. Understand them intuitively, just as you know everything else around you—as opposed to, like, going rule by rule. It's a lot easier."

With Jaemin's words in mind, Mark goes back to work. When they finally leave the library for dinner, Mark's finished with the problem set.

Jaemin walks next to him, humming to himself as they cross the street. "Did you get it?" he asks Mark. "Like, for the problem?"

"Yeah, I did," Mark replies. "Thanks, man."

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

After a day or two, Mark video-calls his parents late at night. He’s sprawled out on his bed, back against the wall, when he receives a notification to accept his mom’s FaceTime request. His parents had made it _very_ clear that he was to call them once a week, just to let them know how he’s doing.

“How has the camp been, Minhyung?” his mom asks in Korean. She’s always been bad at video-calling, and as usual, the angle on her video-camera shows only half of her face.

“Fine,” Mark replies in English. “Lecture’s pretty interesting, actually.”

“Are you making friends?” his mom asks, worriedly. “Make sure you talk to people.”

Mark sighs. It’s been a couple of years since his peak social anxiety years during middle school, but his mom still worries about him. Too much, in his opinion; he wishes he had Jaemin’s laid-back parents instead sometimes.

" _Yes_ , I’ve made friends, Mom," he replies. Jeno, lazing around on the bed across from him—no doubt playing that Japanese cat game again—looks up and grins at him.

Mark rolls his eyes at Jeno, before focusing his attention back on his computer screen. His dad’s in the frame now, too, watching him quietly. Even though his mother is the one to fuss over him, Mark feels the weight of his father’s expectations much more.

“Are you eating?” his mom adds. “Make sure that you eat three good meals a day. Be polite to the counselors. You made a good impression on your counselor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m eating well,” Mark says, starting to get impatient. All of the questions are just so—overwhelming.

“How’s the math going?” his dad asks.

“It’s fine.” And for the most part, it has been fine. Lecture’s still pretty interesting. The problem sets, while increasing in difficulty, haven’t become too difficult yet. “Everything’s _fine_ , okay?”

“We worry,” his mom says. “And this is an important opportunity, Minhyung—“

“Listen, Mom,” Mark interrupts. It’s too much, to face all of his parents’ worries and concerns. “I—I’ve gotta go, okay? It’s dinner time now. Bye.”

He exits out of FaceTime, slamming his laptop shut.

Jeno looks up from Neko Atsume, concerned. Jeno’s developed a preoccupation with the cute pet game, not that Mark’s surprised. “Are you okay?” he asks. Mark’s reminded of Jaemin saying nearly the same words to Renjun a couple days ago.

“Parents,” Mark says, as an explanation. “Typical, y’ know?”

Jeno sighs. “You sure?” he asks.

Before Mark can answer him, Donghyuck enters the room. They never really got around to keeping their door locked.

“Jaemin’s done meeting with Jaehyun,” Donghyuck says, referring to him and his roommate’s counselor. “Let’s go grab dinner now?”

“Sure,” Mark says, getting off of his bed quickly. He definitely doesn’t want to spend any more time continuing that conversation with Jeno.

Over the course of dinner, the discussion veers from anime to anime piano, to Donghyuck and Renjun’s exploits within their respective choirs. Listening to him excitedly recount his experiences from All-State Choir, it’s easy to believe that Donghyuck has a talent in singing. All of them seem to be interested in music, albeit in different ways.

“Wait, I just realized,” Jaemin says, snapping his fingers. “I haven’t practiced since before camp started.”

“What instrument?” Jeno asks.

“Piano,” Jaemin replies.

“Oh, me too,” Jeno says, excited. He reaches over the table to give Jaemin a high-five. “I know where the practice rooms are, they aren’t far away.”

“Really?” Jaemin looks around the table, smile ever-present. “We should totally go after dinner.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Donghyuck agrees, turning to face Mark. “What d’you think?”

Mark hesitates. “I kinda have to work on my pset,” he says, sheepishly. It irks him, that he’s always the slowest out of the five of them. The others always have to wait for him to finish before they can do anything fun. It feels like he’s always dragging them behind, just by being—himself.

“That’s fine,” Jeno says. “Actually, I still have a couple of proofs to write up too—but there’s a whole lounge area where you can pset, and the rooms are pretty spacious, so, um. Yeah.”

“I’m up for it,” Renjun adds. “Besides, we can always just stay up later to finish the pset.”

Mark sighs. Throughout the past couple of days, Mark’s bedtime has progressively become later and later. Apparently, that’s a usual trend at the camp. Doyoung had told him that by the last week, most students end up sleeping by around 2 or 3 in the morning.

Donghyuck pats his shoulder. “You won’t need to stay up that late,” he reassures Mark. “Though, your version of late is, ah. Questionable.” He’s referring to the fact that Mark had gotten tired at 11 pm yesterday. It had been understandable, in Mark’s opinion, given that he had gone out for a run earlier that day.

“Maybe you’re the one with the skewed sense of time,” Mark counters.

Donghyuck grins, leaning in close to inexplicably tap Mark’s nose. “Maybe,” he echoes.

Jeno leads them through a maze of cramped hallways upon arriving at the university’s music building. He stops at some doors to peer through before settling on the perfect practice room.

“This isn’t the one I used last time,” Jeno says, pushing the door open, “but it has two pianos in it, so—”

“So we can play together,” Jaemin finishes for him, bounding over to hug him from behind. “That’s such a good idea!”

The practice room seems relatively spacious, with two grand pianos crammed side by side in the center.

Jeno groans. “Yeah, yeah it is,” he agrees, trying to twist out of Jaemin’s grip. “Agh, you’re stronger than I expected.”

Jaemin bats his eyelashes at Jeno. “I defy _all_ expectations,” he states grandly.

Mark laughs at their antics, sharing a look of mirth with Donghyuck and Renjun.

At first, everyone besides Jaemin—who always finishes the problem set first, of course—sit on the carpeted floor, backs against the wall as they work on their problem sets.

Jaemin goes directly to the left grand piano, opening the lid with a flourish. He begins to play, the distinctive beginning of Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 filling the room.

Mark isn’t skilled at either playing the piano or singing. He does know a fair amount of classical music from the theory classes he took while playing the cello up till high school. He quit because he liked the other things he did better—cross country and math team, mostly. There’s always a couple of moments when Mark regrets making that decision.

Mark watches, captivated, for at least a minute. There’s something about the way Jaemin holds himself when he plays, the expressiveness of his motions, that’s amazing. It’s difficult to focus on his problem set. Just two more problems left, Mark reassures himself. Then he can soak up everything around him fully and completely.

 

 

 

 

 

They end up like this: Jaemin and Jeno each sitting at a grand piano, trying to play Jaemin’s favorite anime OST in unison and giggling every time they play out of sync; Renjun and Donghyuck standing on the sides, trying to sing along, Donghyuck replacing the lyrics with _lalala_ s because he doesn’t know the lyrics; and Mark, standing awkwardly next to them, feeling out of place because he can’t sing or play the piano all that well. It’s another thing that separates him from the rest of them, another thing that makes Mark feel—less.

Jaemin starts playing the introduction to a different song. It still sounds like an anime OST, from how dramatic it sounds. Renjun claps his hands in glee and begins to sing along. Donghyuck looks over at Mark with a smile.

“This is so cool, hm?” Donghyuck says. Mark can barely hear him over the music and laughter, so he leans in closer.

“Yeah,” Mark replies. “But—I can’t sing.”

Donghyuck’s face falls, and he shakes his head at Mark. “You totally can,” he says, reaching down to squeeze Mark’s hand before letting go after a half-second. The warmth of the touch sears itself into Mark’s skin, washes over him in waves like he’s outside basking in the sun.

After that song finishes—apparently, it’s called “This Game”—Jeno starts playing again. Just from the opening chords, the rest of them can recognize the song.

“Taylor Swift?” Jaemin asks, teasing. “Also, why’d you modulate it to, like, C major?”

Jeno pauses in the middle of the introduction to “Back to December” to roll his eyes at Jaemin. “Come on, Nana,” he says. “Not everyone has perfect pitch like you.”

“I guess,” Jaemin says. He starts to clap along to Jeno’s playing.

“Do you know the lyrics?” Donghyuck asks Renjun.

Renjun blushes slightly. “I might have the entire song memorized,” he admits, just as Jeno begins to play the chords leading up to the first verse.

Renjun is the first to sing, voice simple but strong in its conviction. Donghyuck joins him after a couple of moments, and their voices combine to form something truly special. It reaches something Mark hasn’t felt for a while, stirring something deep within him. It feels like happiness. The euphoric kind that comes from hearing something as imperfectly beautiful as a couple of friends singing together.

Donghyuck throws an arm around Mark, looks at him and nods encouragingly. Mark looks into Donghyuck’s eyes, tries to concentrate on the warmth contained there—that genuine affection and encouragement. He begins to sing.

His voice isn’t as beautiful as Donghyuck, isn’t as smooth as Renjun’s, but it combines with the rest of them to form something new. Together, with the five of them together like this, Mark feels jubilant and weightless. Like he can soar everywhere he steps. Such is the power of music, of a shared song, to render everything golden-bright to him, to make him forget about his worries, even if only temporarily.

When they walk back, it’s glorious: just the five of them and the night, rushing in just minutes before curfew. The city lights shine down on their faces, light up the murky summer sky, and Mark is _hopeful_.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

They receive an “extra-long, extra-special weekend problem set” on Friday. There isn’t lecture on the weekends but, well, they need to be put to work _somehow_. That’s Jaemin’s reasoning, anyway.

They spend nearly the whole day on the problem set. Mark’s horrified to find himself barely half-way through when the clock on his phone reads 11:13 pm. By then, they’ve settled into the floor lounge next to their rooms for some late-night work on the problem sets.

Mark regrets taking a break to play frisbee for a couple of minutes during the afternoon. He even kind of regrets going to Mandatory Fun. Though, he’s aware that ditching the mandatory “bonding” activities arranged by the counselors to work on his problem set is pathetic. Ugh.

Yuta, one of the counselors, sits with them as well. He’s exactly the kind of guy that probably shows up in Mark’s mom’s nightmares: he’s got piercings, bleached blonde hair, and a position in a Ph.D. program in _mathematics._

“I’m trying to get know some of the students better,” Yuta explains with a grin. He sits down next to Jaemin and peers over his shoulder. “What’re you working on?”

Jaemin explains the proof of the problem he’s working on. Mark tunes him out because he hasn’t gotten to that problem yet. Jaemin must be close to finishing; he always is.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Jeno says. He sits directly across from Mark, in one of the foldable chairs. Evidently, they’ve moved on from talking about the problem sets. “I feel like I don’t really talk to any counselors besides Doyoung.”

Yuta’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, Doyoung’s your counselor?” he says. He mutters something quiet underneath his breath, unintelligible. “He’s an interesting guy.”

“You could say _that_ ,” Mark says underneath his breath. Doyoung’s comments on his problem sets are often illegible. It leads to text conversations after lecture that go somewhere along the lines of Mark taking pictures of every comment, sending it to Doyoung, and asking him what it reads. Doyoung usually replies several hours later, in texts abbreviated so heavily that they seem illegible in a different kind of way. One such text had read _isd 2 pls expl. m. on sig of Z & N_.

“But, yeah,” Yuta continues, unable to hear Mark. “Counselors are kind of busy, between conducting their own research and grading in psets—most which are handed in at, like, midnight or later—” Mark exchanges a glance with Donghyuck next to him; they’re both extremely guilty of this— “So they have to grade in the middle of the night, and, well. Being a counselor is fun, but it’s kind of like being a student with twice the workload.”

“How come you have the time to talk to us?” Donghyuck asks, leaning forward. “My, ah, counselor—Taeyong, by the way—is so hard to get a hold of if I don’t talk to him after the lecture.”

Yuta squints. “I mean, Taeyong is kind of, um, shy? But I’ve been sacrificing a lot of productivity, I guess, sitting with students like this,” he says, gesturing at the four of them. “But that’s a conscious decision I made when I became a counselor, you know. Others just want to do their job, and that’s fine too.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jaemin says. “Being a counselor actually seems kinda cool.”

“You should do it if you end up majoring in math,” Yuta tells him. “I think it’s rewarding, even if the pay is pretty crap.”

Jaemin’s about to speak when Renjun storms in angrily. He stomps his way over to the foldable chair beside Jeno and slams himself down into it with far too much force for such a flimsy chair. Mark’s surprised that it doesn’t break.

Jaemin looks over at him. “Video call didn’t go well?” he asks gently. Renjun had left the room around thirty minutes ago to chat with his parents.

Renjun doesn’t respond, just stares at the ceiling, face completely blank. He looks as if he’s willing himself not to cry.

Jeno leans over, touching his arm gently. “Are you okay?” he asks. Renjun shakes his hand off, continuing to stare listlessly into nothing.

Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Mark exchange a look, and as if the three of them are all connected, they get up at the same time to kneel around Renjun’s chair. Yuta remains seated, watching with a worried expression on his face. Mark wonders why he doesn’t leave, before remembering—oh, he’s Renjun’s counselor. It’s Yuta’s business to know how Renjun’s doing.

“I’m fine,” Renjun says finally, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to the four of them. He sniffles, but no tears fall. “Just—just,” he sniffles again. “Wait for a couple of minutes. And stop surrounding me, it’s—I’ll be fine.”

Jaemin embraces him, a short and powerful hug, and Donghyuck runs a hand through his hair. But they do as Renjun instructed, pretending to go back to their problem sets.

Renjun slows down his panicked breathing, taking increasingly deeper breaths. It’s calming to listen to.

After a couple of minutes, Renjun finally speaks. “My parents,” he says. He pauses, opening his mouth to speak then closing it again.

“My parents,” Renjun begins again. “It’s like—since they pay for everything I do, and provide for me, they think—they think that they own me, too.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “That’s terrible, Renjun,” he says, hushed. Mark remembers meeting Jaemin’s parents—they were much more laidback than his own.

“It’s the worst, isn’t it?” Yuta asks, looking at Renjun. His face softens in a sort of shared empathy that would be hard to manufacture artificially. “But once you get older—really, it’ll get better. You don’t owe them anything.”

“Yeah, you don’t,” Donghyuck agrees, soft and resolute.

Mark hesitates. He thinks of his own parents, of the expectations they voice during every video-call, of the silent standards Mark must hold himself to. Not just _eat more_ , _study hard_ , but also _be perfect_ and _be normal_.

“But, but,” Mark begins. His voice feels overly loud as he speaks. “But, aren’t they kind of right? I mean, my parents—they’ve done so much for me—” he breaks off. He’s unable to explain all the sacrifices his parents have made to get his family here, in America. “Sometimes I feel like, uh, they do. Own me.”

Across from him, Jeno’s face crumples up. He’s trying not to cry.

Donghyuck looks at Mark and says nothing, merely reaches over to squeeze his hand for a short moment. His eyes are wide, almost sad.

“Oh, Mark,” Yuta says. He sounds almost disappointed. “The only person who owns you is yourself.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, guys,” Jungwoo says, entering the lounge. It’s around one in the morning. Yuta had left an hour or so prior, claiming that he actually needs to start being productive; he’s going to be giving a mini-lecture in a couple of days. The rest of them have continued to sit around in the lounge. Jaemin’s since shifted focus from his problem set, laptop out as he watches cat videos with Jeno.

Jungwoo’s a second-year student, which, from Renjun’s mentions of his own second-year roommate, means that he has a lot more time on his hands—they don’t have to finish the daily problem sets—but also a lot more responsibilities—they’re expected to do conduct math research over the short course of the summer.

Mark looks up and waves. Donghyuck smiles, saying “hey” back at Jungwoo.

Jungwoo always looks like he’s got some sort of scheme going on—it’s his innocent, almost doll-like, face, no doubt—and today is no exception. Mark’s suspicions are confirmed when Lucas appears behind Jungwoo with a yell.

“Guys, Jaehyun has entered the bathroom,” Lucas says in a loud whisper. “The eagle has landed. I repeat. The eagle has landed.”

Renjun looks at his roommate in disbelief, as usual. “Did you just call Jaehyun the President?”

“Oh, _that’s_ what it means,” Lucas replies.

“Yeah,” Renjun says.

“But, anyway,” Jungwoo says, shushing Lucas, “want to help steal Jaehyun’s mattresses?”

Mark’s heard of mattress stealing. Yuta mentioned it once when he was reminiscing about his past experiences as a student at this program a few years back. Doyoung had alluded to it when he warned them to lock their doors. But he’s never actually _seen_ it in practice. Apparently, it’s a time-honored tradition, started by Yuta and his friends during their years at the camp.

“Mattresses, plural?” Donghyuck asks, confused.

“Yeah,” Jungwoo replies. “All the counselors have a room with two beds, just like the students.”

Lucas looks at them, clearly excited. “Do you guys wanna help?” he asks. “I mean—it would be easier if we had more people—so, yeah—and it’s fun!”

Renjun bites back a smile—he does that a lot, really, when he’s around Lucas—and stands up. “Sure,” he says. “I need a break from psetting anyways.”

“Me too,” Mark agrees. When Yuta had left, he took the industrial-sized fan he brought with him. Now, the floor lounge is too hot for Mark to think properly.

Jaemin tugs Jeno up and Donghyuck stands up with them as well. “We’ll all come,” Jaemin offers. “Our first time mattress-stealing, it’ll bound to be... interesting.”

Jungwoo quietly leads them through the hallway, opening the door to Jaehyun’s room easily. It’s unlocked. Jaehyun keeps his room fairly clean. The mattress he doesn’t sleep on has a stack of papers on it and not much else. The mattress he _does_ sleep on has neatly folded sheets on top of it.

Jungwoo removes the papers from Jaehyun’s other mattress delicately, placing them on his desk.

“Okay, Renjun,” he says. “Can you remove the sheets from Jaehyun’s bed?”

Renjun shrugs. “Alright,” he says.

“I’ll help you!” Lucas offers. Renjun bites back another smile.

Apparently, there’s a whole system of etiquette involved in someone’s bed, consisting of the following rules:

  1. The Mattress Robber must have the sheets folded and placed somewhere clean within the room.

  2. The Mattress Robber must not take anything else from the room.

  3. The Mattress Robber must leave a note specifying the location of the mattresses.

  4. The Mattress Robber must help return the mattresses back when the robbee finds out.




“Is robbee even a word?” Mark points out, as Jungwoo fills them in with the code.

Lucas shrugs. “No clue,” he says. “But it sounds cool, doesn’t it?”

Jaemin, Jeno and Lucas lift the mattress off of the bed, Jungwoo holding the door open for them. Donghyuck, Mark, and Renjun take ahold of the other mattress. It isn’t heavy, but it’s still a bit more than Mark expected.

Mark looks at Donghyuck. He’s been smiling this whole time, merely grinning at the absurdity of the whole situation.

They make eye-contact over the mattress. Mark smiles tentatively, and Donghyuck more than mirrors it. It’s—infectious.

They don’t end up placing the mattresses anywhere too bad, just leaving them against the walls in the hallway. Apparently, last year, Lucas’s mattress was placed three floors down, and it couldn’t fit in the elevator.

“Make sure they’re against the walls,” Jungwoo instructs. “Otherwise people get pissed when they block the hallway.”

While Donghyuck and Mark push one of the mattresses up against the wall, Doyoung walks past them, clearly from the bathroom. Doyoung’s wearing one of those ridiculous headbands designed to keep your hair out of your face when washing it. The sight is so funny that Mark starts laughing, bent over and wheezing into his hand.

Doyoung looks at the seven of them quizzically. “Whose mattresses?” he asks Jungwoo. He seems to know that Jungwoo’s the brains behind all of this.

Jungwoo smiles at Doyoung, all charming and polite. “I bet you could guess,” he says sweetly. “Don’t worry, we haven’t got you yet.”

Doyoung narrows his eyebrows at Jungwoo. He seems to give up on whatever conversation could have transpired there. Instead, he turns to look at Mark and Jeno.

“You two,” he says, pointing at his students. “How much have you done of the weekend pset?”

Mark swallows. “Half, basically,” he says. He hopes it meets Doyoung’s stringent standards.

Jeno shrugs. “Same as Mark?” he says.

Doyoung looks between the two of them, then nods in approval. “Alright, I’ll leave you all to your… _tomfoolery_ ,” he says, with a hint of disdain. “But don’t you dare _touch_ my room.”

Jungwoo laughs as Doyoung walks into his room, making a clear show of locking the door shut.

“Doyoung’s hilarious,” Jungwoo says, shaking his head. “He pretends as if he and Yuta hadn’t come up with the whole idea of mattress-stealing.”

Mark drops his jaw in surprise. " _Doyoung_ was one of them?" he asks incredulously.

“Oh, yeah,” Lucas says.

“Doyoung’s a big softie,” Jungwoo says fondly. “He just pretends like he’s no fun because he wants to be a responsible counselor.”

 _Wow_ , Mark mouths silently.

They go back to the floor lounge to wait. Jungwoo and Lucas have taken their seats. Mark and Donghyuck sit beside each other on the floor, cross-legged. Mark doesn’t even pretend to be doing his problem set. Instead, he watches, rapt, as Donghyuck doodles in the margins of his notebook.

It shouldn’t even be called doodling, really. Donghyuck’s sketches are almost life-like, especially in the essence and character they convey with just a few strokes of his pen.

Donghyuck notices him staring, but doesn’t react. Just flips the page, and starts a new sketch. It doesn’t take long for Mark to realize that it’s, well—it’s _him_. The way he was bent over in laughter in seeing Doyoung, eyes crinkled up in joy. Donghyuck seems to capture his joy, his happiness, so easily on the surface of the paper.

“That’s so good,” Mark says quietly. In awe, almost.

“Thanks,” Donghyuck replies. He runs a thumb over it, considering. Then he looks back at Mark. “But… why do you always cover your mouth when you laugh?”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asks.

They aren’t able to continue the conversation, though, because at that moment Jaehyun enters the lounge. His hair’s wet from showering, and it makes him look more boyish than usual.

“Jungwoo?” Jaehyun asks, looking at him. There’s something in that smile, some deeper affection there, that Mark can’t name. It’s only there for a second before Jaehyun shifts his gaze across the rest of the room. “Oh, and you’ve recruited a bunch of first-years, too.”

“What can I say?” Jungwoo says. “They make good minions.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes at that. “We are _not_ minions,” he informs Jaehyun.

Jaehyun smiles at that, before turning back towards Jungwoo. “Listen, I’ve gotta sleep, it’s like 2 am right now. Can some of you guys help bring the mattresses back?”

“Sure,” Mark volunteers, Donghyuck close behind him. They make quick work of putting the mattress back. Donghyuck is his eyes, warning him when he’ll accidentally step into a wall, and it works well.

Except for when Donghyuck pranks him, of course. He tells Mark there’s a wall _right behind you, Mark, seriously, watch out!_ when there’s nothing behind him.

It makes Mark laugh again, and this time his hands are too occupied with carrying the mattress to cover his smile.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Mark wakes up at approximately noon. That’s normal. Even back home, Mark would sleep in to an outrageous extent during the weekends. But what _isn’t_ normal is the text that’s currently displayed on the lock screen of his phone.

 _hey mrk,_ it reads, in typical Doyoung fashion. _just finshed rding ur pset frm th. need to tlk. qsl @ 2pm?_

Mark squints at it for a minute or two, trying to decipher it blearily, before it clicks. Oh, fuck. Doyoung wants to meet with him—in person—about his problem set—they _need_ to talk, that sounds serious—oh, no—fuck—

All of these thoughts race through his head, one after another, ricocheting against his skull like bullets.

Jeno, on the bed opposite him, looks up. “Oh, you’re finally awake,” he says. “Wanna grab brunch in thirty?”

Mark looks up. Wills himself to calm the fuck down, not that it works all that well. “Yeah, of course,” he says, swallowing. His morning breath renders the inside of his mouth icky-feeling. He needs to—he doesn’t know. Brush his teeth, maybe.

Jeno looks at him. “You alright?” he asks, softening.

“Yeah,” Mark says, standing up. “Just need to,” he gestures vaguely, “Well, yeah.”

With that, he exits his room.

 

 

 

 

 

Over the course of brunch, Jaemin and Jeno convince Mark he has nothing to worry about.

“Doyoung isn’t intimidating at all,” Jeno reassures. “Come on, I asked him for help last week and it was _fine_. He’s just, um, awkward.”

Jaemin places his hand on Mark’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “And even if it is a mistake that you’ve made, it’s fine, you know?”

Mark nods. But they don’t get it, he thinks. To him, it isn’t fine. Even if he owns himself, he still has his own impossible standards to please.

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet Study Lounge, or QSL for short, isn’t that quiet of a study lounge. Like most rooms in the dorms, it also lacks air-conditioning, so Mark has never once stepped foot in it. There are a lot of campers he recognizes—Yerim, the second-year with dyed blonde hair, and her friends Chaeyoung and Tzuyu—and some that he doesn’t. Mark hopes they’re from other camps or something. He likes to think he isn’t so antisocial as to not know who attends the same program as him—but he has no idea.

Doyoung’s sitting in the corner, sipping at some bubble tea. It’s a garish bright purple, and the sight of it only adds to the queasy feeling in Mark’s stomach.

“Hey,” Mark greets, pulling out a chair beside Doyoung and taking out his supplies. “You wanted to talk about the last pset, right?”

“Yes,” Doyoung says, pulling out Mark’s problem set. He rifles through the pages, before pointing out a proof. “Here. This one.” He shows it to Mark.

Mark winces at the sight. It’s covered in the characteristic bright blue ink from Doyoung’s gel pen. As per usual, Mark can barely decipher the handwriting. He knows which problem Doyoung’s referring to, at least. It’s the proof of the division algorithm, the one that uses the well-ordering principle to explain why division works.

“What’s the well-ordering principle?” Jeno asked them, a couple of days back. “Doyoung mentioned it, but when I asked him what it was, he apologized and said that he couldn’t tell me, but he told me not to look it up either.”

Jaemin laughed. “Well, see, Jeno,” he said, leaning close, “you have a bunch of wells, right, and then they have to be ordered…”

Jeno tackled Jaemin in a chokehold, then, as Jaemin continued to laugh in his arms.

“—Mark, are you listening?”

Mark looks up, shaking his head. He zoned out, he supposes. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asks.

“I was telling you,” Doyoung says. “Well, asking you, really. What _is_ the well-ordering principle?”

All of a sudden, Mark’s reminded of Jaemin’s words. _Know a definition for what it is intuitively_ , he said.

Mark doesn’t know what intuition is. He just tries his best to solve every problem that comes his way.

“It’s, um, every set of positive integers has a least element,” he says.

Doyoung sighs, visibly relieved. “Okay, so you know what it is,” he says. “But, looking at this proof—” he points his pen at it, tapping twice on the parts circled in blue ink— “do you see what the issue is?”

Mark squints at it. There’s something about it that’s off, he knows, not entirely a true proof in the actual sense. When he had written the solution down he had been so desperate to finish that it hadn’t mattered.

“The proof is circular, do you see it?” Doyoung says. “You don’t—you don’t prove what you’re trying to say, you just—circle around it.” The tip of his pen, capped, traces lazy circles around the proof.

“I,” Mark begins. He’s still confused. “Can you give me an example?”

“Sure,” Doyoung says. He pauses for a moment and steeples his hands under his chin.

“It’s like,” he begins. “It’s like when we’re trying to define the integers. Do you remember that discussion? During the first lecture?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. His throat is so dry that it comes out almost without a sound.

“What makes a whole number what it is?” Doyoung asks him, eyes gleaming. “Why can’t we _define_ the things that are so foundational to us as mathematicians?”

Mark sighs. He doesn’t _know._ He doesn’t respond to Doyoung’s question. He looks down at the table, at his miserable proof that’s decorated in blue ink.

“This isn’t a proof,” Doyoung says, finally. He’s tired of waiting for Mark to answer. His voice is so gentle, but his words seem to pierce like something much sharper. “It’s a bunch of words, telling me that what you’re trying to prove is right.”

Mark keeps his eyes down on the table, barely listening as Doyoung continues to speak. Something about establishing a logical pathway, about having reasoning for every step. He feels, with every second that he sits there, that his heart is beating like a hummingbird’s wings. Nervous, nervous.

“I have high expectations,” Doyoung says. He lays a hand on Mark’s shoulder, the touch gentle. “But that’s only because you can fulfill them.”

“Can I—can I go now?” Mark asks, voice trembling. Without waiting for a reply, he starts to pack up.

“Wait, Mark—” Doyoung begins, but before then, Mark’s out of the QSL and slamming the door shut.

His breathing sounds abnormally loud. Like his lungs are taking up half of his body. He—He—

Mark ducks into the nearest bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, then looks down; he doesn’t want to see himself. He splashes his face with water. Once, twice. It’s cold. He does it again.

“Mark, is that you?” Donghyuck says. “I thought I saw you—you seemed upset—”

He cuts himself off, rubs a hand across Mark’s back. Donghyuck’s touch, as always, is warm.

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck murmurs. They’re the only two people in the bathroom.

Mark looks up. No, I’m not, he wants to say. But words seem almost too much for him, in this moment.

Mark shakes his head, the most he can do. Donghyuck’s face twists and he steps forward to embrace Mark.

Donghyuck’s a touchy person, an affectionate person, and Mark’s never been more grateful for that than now. He’s never been all that touchy himself. But there’s something about the way Donghyuck envelops him in his arms—

So Mark lets himself be held. Slowly, slowly, his breathing quiets. Slowly, slowly, his heartbeat becomes human again.

 

 

 

 

 

Mark goes up to his room to work on the problem set alone. “I’m fine,” he had insisted to Donghyuck. “I just—want to be by myself for a bit, I think.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck said. That’s the nice thing about Donghyuck. He’s insightful, and he can tell when Mark wants to be left alone.

It’s weird, working on his problem set by himself. He realizes, with a shiver, that he hasn’t been alone since camp started. He and Jeno have a habit of showering at the same time, in adjacent stalls. The five of them are always eating and working on problem sets together.

Mark misses it, in some ways. At home, he’s alone most of the time. His parents are always on the opposite end of the house, everyone working on their respective tasks.

There’s only one drawback to working on his problem set alone in his room. Okay, there’s more than one, but this is the most pressing: the lack of air-conditioning. It makes him feel lethargic, sluggish and slow as he writes up proofs. He’s sweating; it’s sticky and gross.

Mark shakes his head. He _needs_ to snap out of it. _Focus,_ he tells himself. He puts his earbuds in and listens to the playlist Donghyuck recommended him on Spotify the other day. It makes him feel less alone, in a way.

When Jeno comes in, he asks a question that Mark can’t hear. He ignores him, staying focused on the problem set. Once Mark’s finished, he checks time. It’s 10 pm. Shit, he missed dinner—that’s probably what Jeno was asking him about.

Whatever. Mark stretches in his chair. As he does so, he becomes aware of how his shirt sticks to his skin. He should do his laundry; he’s starting to run out of clean clothes.

But he should take a shower first. Yeah, that.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s toweling his hair dry, shirtless, when Donghyuck walks into his room.

“Mark, do you wanna—” Donghyuck breaks off, eyes widening when he enters. “Ah, I’m—ah—um—”

Mark turns around to face his dresser, rummaging through the contents to throw on a t-shirt.

“Yeah, what were you saying?” Mark asks, blood rushing to his face. Sure, he keeps fit and he’s on the cross-country team, but he’s still working on getting his abs to the same level as Jaemin. And, well, of course, he’s self-conscious. Especially around someone like Donghyuck. His hair’s still somewhat wet, and it drips down his neck unpleasantly.

“What’re you doing right now?” Donghyuck asks, direct. He steps into the room completely, shutting the door behind him.

 _Oh._ Mark swallows. Now that he can see Donghyuck fully, he can _see_ him. Donghyuck’s wearing a muscle tank that shows off the tan skin of his arms and the sharpness of his collarbones. “I was gonna go do my laundry,” he says.

Donghyuck checks the time on his phone. “At 10:30? Really?”

Mark shrugs. “My clothes are dirty, so.”

Donghyuck looks at him for a moment, almost calculating, then shrugs. “I can come with if you want,” he offers. “I was planning to do it tomorrow, but. By the time we’re finished, it’ll be tomorrow anyway.”

Mark smiles at that. “Yeah, let’s go,” he says. “Let me get all my clothes in a bag.”

“Me too,” Donghyuck says. “I’ll be back here in a couple of minutes, ‘kay?” He touches Mark’s shoulder briefly as if assuring him that he’ll come back.

“Sure,” Mark agrees.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ahh,” Donghyuck says, breathing out a dramatic sigh of relief when he enters the laundry room. “I can’t believe there’s aircon here of all places.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. The difference between the laundry room and the hallway outside immediately becomes clear. It makes him shiver a little.

“Are you _cold_?” Donghyuck asks, watching him. One side of his mouth quirks up in a teasing smile.

Mark shakes his head. “No, I don’t know,” he says. They make quick work of loading their clothes up into the washing machines.

While placing his quarters into the machine, Mark becomes aware of the fact that he’s been alone with Donghyuck for the first time today. Now that it’s happened, it’s happened _twice_. The thought of it makes him nervous, for some reason.

Mark tries to shake away the feeling and heads towards the door when he’s finished.

“Wait!” Donghyuck calls. He’s still adding in the quarters, putting each one in carefully. “We should stay here while we’re waiting for the laundry to finish.”

Mark frowns at that, for more reasons than one. “Why?” he asks finally. _Why do you want to spend time with me?_

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “There’s aircon here, dumbass,” he says. He sits on top of one of the empty machines, swinging his legs against the surface.

“Come on,” Donghyuck says, the tone of his voice taking on a whiny tinge. He scooches over to one side of the washing machine, then pats the space next to him. “Come here, sit.”

“We don’t even have lecture tomorrow, or anything,” Donghyuck continues, “so I don’t get why you’d want to work—”

“Alright,” Mark interrupts him. "I’ll stay. The A/C’s pretty nice.“

Donghyuck’s smile blooms across his face. It makes Mark feel warm, despite the chill of the laundry room. He doesn’t think about it any further, simply walking over and sitting beside Donghyuck on top of the washing machine.

“It’s kinda late, though,” Mark notes quietly.

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck reassures him, squeezing his shoulder as he so often does. “We don’t have a lecture tomorrow, remember?”

“Okay,” Mark replies.

There’s a brief silence when neither of them talks, but it isn’t awkward—it never is, with Donghyuck. Mark listens to the whirring of the washing machines and waits.

“So,” Donghyuck starts. “Tell me…”

And so, they talk. With Donghyuck, time seems to both slow down and speed up, all at once. Mark revels in the contradictions of it all, of the way every moment Donghyuck spends touching him—always warm, so _warm_ —seems to feel like a millennium, yet passes in a second.

There’s something about him—Mark doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to explain the sudden nervousness, that giddiness that comes with trying something new, the way he can _feel_ his cheeks turning pink as the minutes pass.

It’s like the neon lights Mark sees when they walk along the streets of Boston. Declaring things open that he never knew to be closed, revealing parts of him he’s never known.

“What’s your favorite book?” Donghyuck asks him.

" _All the Light We Cannot See_ ," Mark replies immediately. “It’s—well it’s kind of romantic, but it’s set during World War II, and there’s something about the way the two of them—”

He breaks off. Donghyuck’s staring at him intently, almost too attentively. He can feel the intensity of it even when he doesn’t make eye contact with him.

“Um, the main characters, I mean,” Mark continues. “There’s something about it that’s just—so beautiful. Have you read it?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck admits. “I had a phase two years back where I read all of the recent Pulitzer Prize winners. Reading it made me cry.”

“What about you?”

“My favorite book?” Donghyuck stretches lazily and muffles a yawn. “Ah, my favorite book… Probably _Crush_ , by Richard Siken.”

“I’ve never heard of him.” Somehow, one of Donghyuck’s arms is around Mark’s shoulder. It pulls him close, closer. He swallows dryly.

Donghyuck reminds him of physics. The attractive force between opposite charges increases with less distance, yes, of course.

Donghyuck hums absentmindedly. “You should get around to reading it, sometime,” he says. “It makes you hurt, in a good way.”

If anything, Donghyuck would be like quantum physics. No certainties, only probabilities.

“You’re a romantic, right?” Donghyuck adds. He’s got that mischievous look in his eyes again. “So you might enjoy it. Or you might not.”

“I am _not_ —” Mark breaks off, reconsidering for a moment. “Maybe I am,” he admits. “A romantic, that is.” He looks down at their legs. At some point, Donghyuck had looped his left leg around Mark’s right calf, and he hadn’t even noticed till now.

“I used to want to be a writer,” Mark says. “Maybe that’s romantic.”

“What changed?” Donghyuck asks softly. His thumb rubs the back of Mark’s hand gently. It reminds him of Doyoung’s pity.

Donghyuck’s close. Too close. The washing machine stops, indicating the end of the wash cycle. The two of them are surrounded by an eerie silence. It rings in Mark’s ears.

 _What changed?_ Mark wonders. Something’s shifted, in this moment, and he’s afraid.

“I grew up,” Mark replies. He holds Donghyuck’s gaze, watching as Donghyuck leans in. His heart rattles in his chest; he’s past the speed of hummingbirds now. His hyperactive, buzzing, washing-machine heart.

“I grew up,” Mark repeats. He remembers his parents, grainy through the screen of his laptop.

Mark turns away from Donghyuck, getting off of the washing machine. “I think the laundry’s finished,” he says. “Let’s put everything in the dryer now.”

“'Kay,” Donghyuck says, sounding slightly strange. But when Mark turns to look at him, he seems fine.

Donghyuck yawns when they sit on top of the machines again, this time to wait out the drying cycle. “'M tired,” he says casually. He pokes Mark’s cheek. “Tell me something interesting. I want to stay awake.”

With Donghyuck, everything comes so easy.

When they’re finished with the laundry, it’s nearly 1 am. Jaemin, Renjun, and Jeno are all in Mark’s room, huddled on top of Jeno’s bed to watch an anime. They’ve brought over the combined fans from both Renjun and Jaemin’s rooms. The combined wind power is enough to make Donghyuck’s hair stand upright.

“Where were you guys?” Jeno asks, curious. “Renjun thought y’all were pulling a Jungwoo, but—”

“We did our laundry,” Donghyuck interrupts. “That’s all that happened.” _What else was supposed to happen?_ Mark thinks.

“Oh, _that’s_ where you guys went,” Jaemin says, waggling his eyebrows.

“What?” Mark asks. What does pulling a Jungwoo mean? Why is Jaemin looking at them like he _knows_ something?

“You wouldn’t get it,” Donghyuck brushes off, despite blushing at Jaemin’s comment. “It’s, ah, between roommates.”

Mark looks over at Jeno, who merely shrugs in response.

“Alright,” Mark says, mirroring his shrug.

“Come on, move over,” he says to Jeno, the five of them managing to cram onto Jeno’s bed together. Mark tries to relax as they watch Haikyuu, eyes glazing over as they follow the action of the volleyball anime. But no matter what, he can’t relax completely. He’s still on edge, and for some reason, even the air against his arms feels _different_ , like sandpaper on his skin.


	2. PART TWO: FERMAT'S LITTLE THEOREM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for brief mentions of homophobia

“Oh,” Yuta says nervously, watching as students file in. “There’s… that’s… a lot more students than I expected.”

Jaemin, from the front row, turns towards the rest of them. “Do you think we should start chanting his name?” he says in an undertone. “Or is that too much?”

The mini-lectures that counselors deliver are optional. As a result, there are usually around eight or so students at each one, depending on the topic. Mark attended the first one with Jeno, understood nothing, and never went again.

Renjun shrugs. “This better be good, though,” he says. “I was gonna take a nap.”

“By all means, feel free to sleep,” Yuta says, stepping towards them. “That’s one less person in the audience.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jeno reassures.

“Besides, you’re _Yuta_ ,” Donghyuck adds. “Everyone loves you.” He gestures out to the students filling out the lecture hall seats.

There are around forty students in the lecture hall right now. Half the damn camp is here to watch Yuta.

Yuta swallows nervously.

Mark sighs, looking up at him. “It’ll be great,” he says. “There’s a reason why everyone’s here, and no, it’s _not_ because we’re interested in how many squares make up a triangle.”

“No, I’m proving that you can’t split a square into—”

“Well,” Renjun interrupts, “why don’t you start the lecture and show us?”

Yuta claps his hands in a call for attention. As the students quiet, Mark looks around. Doyoung and a couple of other counselors are sitting off in the side section of seats. Just looking at Doyoung makes Mark feel nervous, in a way.

“Okay, so I’m going to get started now,” Yuta says. He walks over to the chalkboard and begins to write furiously. “So we know that a square can be split into an even number of triangles, as such.” He draws the picture of a square being split up as fast as possible, the chalk sounding like bullets against the board.

Mark didn’t know that it was possible to know someone with worse handwriting than Doyoung, but Yuta easily takes first place in the competition of who has the shittiest handwriting.

“So first we’re going to start off with valuations,” Yuta goes on to say. “Now I know this doesn’t seem related to the topic at hand, but soon you’ll see…” As he writes on the board, his voice gets swallowed up by the sound of the chalk at some points.

Beside him, Renjun pays rapt attention, taking down notes as quickly as possible. “This is _good_ ,” he mutters under his breath, once Yuta starts connecting the part about valuations—which Mark can barely understand—to the more pertinent graph theory results.

On the other side of him, Donghyuck watches Yuta, wide-eyed. He doesn’t take notes, but in his eyes belies a sort of understanding that distinguishes him from other blank-eyed students. Hell, Mark’s probably a blank-eyed student right now.

“I don’t get it,” Mark says, after Yuta scribbles something on the board, runs out of space, pushes one chalkboard down and pulls the other one up, then continues to start writing again. “How the hell is he going to connect the valuations to the graph theory stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck whispers back. “Dude, the guy who discovered this shit must’ve been a genius.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “Dude.”

Donghyuck makes a face at him. “Okay, man,” he imitates Mark, pitching his voice slightly lower.

Renjun nudges Mark. “Can you guys flirt more quietly?” he asks, in a somewhat loud whisper. “I’m trying to concentrate, seriously.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes at Renjun, leaning over Mark’s lap to ruffle the top of his hair. “Shut up,” Donghyuck says. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by Renjun’s comment, though.

As for Mark? He shuts up for that, trying to direct his focus towards the lecture. As the proof reaches more accessible steps—invoking the graph theory results, and yes, Sperner’s Theorem _does_ make sense here—he finds the mini-course easier and easier to understand.

But he still keeps thinking about it. The way Donghyuck looks at him sometimes—is that flirting? Donghyuck’s a touchy person, that’s one of the first things Mark noticed about him, but is he _especially_ touchy with him? Mark looks down at his left arm, which Donghyuck’s right arm is loosely draped over.

No, Mark doesn’t believe it. They’re just friends, and Renjun was just teasing, and Donghyuck wasn’t bothered by what Renjun said because what kind of _fool_ would be bothered over something so small and inconsequential as a throwaway comment?

It wasn’t flirting. It— _isn’t_ flirting.

It can’t be.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

Before he knows it, it’s Monday night, after the end of a weekend, Mark toiling away on his weekday problem set. Doyoung gave him a terse smile while handing back the weekend problem set, congratulating him on the proofs Mark had turned in at approximately six hours before morning lecture.

“I think you’re starting to understand,” Doyoung said, patting Mark’s shoulder before walking away.

As if. Mark feels more confused than ever. He’s in Donghyuck’s shared room with Jaemin, sitting in his chair, facing the odd tidbits Donghyuck’s left on the desk, too scared to really _face_ , well, him.

Him being Donghyuck. Most of them are working on their problem sets, but Jaemin and Donghyuck sit together on Jaemin’s bed, murmuring quietly. They’re almost diagonal across the room; it’s as far away from Mark as possible.

Mark tries to tune out their conversation, focusing his eyes on the surroundings in front of him. When he looks up, he faces a picture of Donghyuck with his parents, hastily taped to the side of a bookshelf, a couple of AP prep books, and random sketches scattered about. Some are on scraps of paper, backs of receipts and sticky notes, but even the roughness of Donghyuck’s sketches manage to convey some sort of unspoken beauty.

They all manage to work on their problem sets for another hour or so, but eventually, it gets so hot that no one can focus that well. Mark sits in silence, feeling sweat drip down his neck, and can barely concentrate on what’s in front of him. Jaemin offers him a Milkis, but Mark refuses; carbonated milk is probably the worst flavor known to humanity, in his opinion.

It isn’t long before he calls quits for the day, tucking his problem set under Doyoung’s door. As usual, it disappears from under the crack within thirty seconds of him handing it in. Honestly, Mark swears that Doyoung must be nocturnal.

“Hm, I think Taeyong’s hotter,” Jaemin says loudly as Mark opens the door again to enter the room. Mark’s so surprised that he slams the door behind him.

“What the _hell_ did you guys start talking about when I was gone?” Mark demands. He sits down on Donghyuck’s bed, beside Renjun and Jeno. Across from them, Donghyuck and Jaemin lean against the opposite wall, lazily tangling their feet together. Mark tries not to look at the golden-tan skin of Donghyuck’s legs.

Renjun shrugs. “Something about who the hottest counselors are,” he says. “Jaemin’s making a strong case for, uh, Taeyong?”

Mark squints at Renjun skeptically but doesn’t press the topic any further.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Maybe we should just agree to disagree,” he says. He seems keen to end the conversation. He looks over at Mark, and their eyes meet for a couple of seconds before Mark breaks his gaze.

“Hm,” Jaemin says again, tapping his fingers against his chin in thought. “I’ve got it!” he says, snapping his fingers. He points at Donghyuck. “You. Fuck, marry, kill with Taeyong, Johnny, Taeil.”

" _Ew_ ," Donghyuck whines. “They’re so old.”

Jaemin slaps his shoulder lightly at that. “They’re only college students.”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure Taeil and Johnny going to be entering Ph.D. programs after this, you know,” he says. He hesitates, then adds thoughtfully, “But, ah, if I really thought about it… Marry Johnny? Kill Taeil?”

Jeno whoops at that, and Jaemin claps his hands together in excitement.

“Taeil? Really?” Jaemin asks, eyes glittering. “He’s pretty nice when you ask him for help and stuff.”

Mark tunes out of the rest of the conversation, still shocked by—well. Maybe, in retrospect, it was obvious that Donghyuck was attracted to guys, and Mark knew about Jaemin for the past year or so, but. Donghyuck’s interested in _guys._ _In that way._

“Okay, okay,” Donghyuck says. He points at Renjun. “Renjun, FMK. Yerim, Chaeyoung, Sicheng.”

“Oh, this is easy,” Renjun says. “Marry Yerim—”

“Wow, Renjun really has a death wish,” Jaemin mutters under his breath.

“And, well, probably fuck Sicheng I guess,” Renjun finishes. “He seems like the type of person to be good at… stuff.”

Jeno looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “What are you trying to imply?”

Renjun fixes him with a _look_. “You know exactly what.”

Renjun makes Jeno go next, and then Jeno makes Donghyuck go. The game seems to pass a couple more rounds before Jaemin chooses him.

“Mark,” Jaemin says. “Jaehyun, Jieqiong, and Yuju.”

Jaehyun and Yuju are both counselors, and Mark _thinks_ that Jieqiong might be a second-year student, but he can’t remember ever seeing her face. Jaehyun’s kind of perfect, the type of model Korean-American son that he imagines his parents must dream about. He’s got it all, with his friendly smile, good looks, and amazing mathematical ability.

“Um,” Mark says. “Fuck Jieqiong, and…” He hesitates. In any other context, in _any_ other room, Mark wouldn’t have paused. He would’ve said _Marry Yuju_ , and that would’ve been the end of it. And here, too, he knows that they wouldn’t question it. That none of them, really, suspect anything at all of Mark. To someone like Jaemin, it wouldn’t be anything worth suspicion, anyway. It would be a matter-of-fact part of _life_ , as simple as breathing.

As simple as breathing. Too bad Mark’s never been able to get that down right either.

“Marry Yuju,” Mark decides, finally. He doesn’t look at any of them.

The odd tension that remains after Mark’s long gap of silence is broken by Jungwoo knocking on their door. He enters merely seconds after the knock.

“I could hear you guys talking from the hall,” Jungwoo says, smiling. “Since you guys are all still up, do you want this?” He holds up a bag from Insomnia Cookies.

“Wait, what time is it?” Mark asks. Jungwoo’s phrasing makes it sounds like they’re the only ones up, which is saying much given the nocturnal behavior of… basically anyone attending this program.

Jungwoo checks his phone. “About 2am or so?”

“Wait,” Renjun says slowly. “How did you go to Insomnia Cookies _after curfew_?”

Jungwoo shrugs. “Take it or leave it, I’m not answering any questions,” he says. He smiles at the end of the sentence, and it’s one of the most terrifying things Mark has ever seen.

“We’ll take it,” Donghyuck replies quickly, getting off of the bed to grab the cookies.

“Thanks,” Jungwoo says, smiling sunnily at them. There’s something about that smile that makes Mark feel as if he’s about to be pick-pocketed of all his worldly possessions. A real heart-stealer.

“Oh, and,” he adds, right before leaving. “I’d probably marry Jaehyun, but, well, to each his own.” He winks before exiting the room, and the door slams shut behind him.

Jaemin stares at the door as if imagining Jungwoo’s presence, awestruck. “Did you _see_ that?” he asks, in a hushed whisper. “He’s so—”

“He could probably talk anyone into _anything_ ,” Donghyuck says. “Never trust a pretty boy with sweet lies.” He looks at Mark after that, face almost expressionless.

Donghyuck only starts smiling again once he bites into one of the cookies Jungwoo brought. He moans at how delicious it is, and the sound sends a shiver down Mark’s spine.

Mark’s not sure what to make of it. He isn’t sure what to make of—well, anything. He isn’t surprised to find out that Donghyuck’s attracted to guys, but it still makes Mark think about himself. About his first girlfriend, and his first crush, and how different they were. The way he had never separated his attraction into _types_ , into the categories of _right_ and _wrong_ , till he got older. It makes Mark nervous and guilty, and sick to his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

“What’s this week’s Mandatory Fun?” Jaemin asks, twirling a pencil in his hands. They’re in the Quiet Study Lounge, and it’s kind of—odd. Mark can’t help but be reminded of the last time he was here, but he’s still enjoying the chance to talk to some of the campers he doesn’t know that well yet.

Yerim wrinkles her nose, perfectly manicured nails tapping against the table. “It’s movie night, I think,” she says. As a second year, she knows what the traditions are from year-to-year, which is nice. Mark doesn’t recall seeing her during the terrible group-bonding session that was the first Mandatory Fun, though.

“That sounds fun,” Renjun says, resting his chin on his palm and looking over at Yerim with gentle eyes. Mark wonders if Renjun knows how obviously he’s flirting. It’s kind of interesting to see, in a fascinating, distanced way. It’s also _embarrassing_. Donghyuck had grown so tired of it that after five minutes he stood up, grabbed Jeno by the wrist, and announced that he had to go get boba.

Mark tries to ignore the tinge of jealousy upon remembering it. Strangely, Donghyuck’s been around him _less_ since they played fuck, marry, kill a couple nights ago.

“They don’t actually show a movie,” Yerim adds. “They just show whatever short videos that the counselors find funny.”

“And the counselors have _shit_ taste,” Jieqiong adds, looking bored at the entire conversation. She’s the kind of pretty that’s hard to look at. Even more so than the grainy photo Jaemin showed him a couple nights back. Mark keeps sneaking peeks at her out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look at her directly.

“They hand out candy, though,” Yerim says, lip-gloss-covered lips forming a pout as she considers the situation. “That’s, like, maybe one reason to go.”

Jaemin looks at Mark and shrugs. “Might as well go, right?” he says. “It’s mandatory, so…”

“The counselors will probably check everyone’s rooms for this one,” Yerim says. “It’s kinda common to ditch.”

“What’re you guys going to do?” Renjun asks towards the second-years. His eyes remain fixed on Yerim.

Yerim shrugs. “Probably ditch, but I won’t be hiding out in my room,” she says.

“What’s that I heard about ditching?” Yuta comes up behind them, smiling in a way that seems both threatening and welcoming at once. He beams at them with the scorching heat of a forest fire, and it’s mildly terrifying.

“Um, uh, it’s nothing,” Yerim lies, studying her nails with unabashed concentration. She’s finally losing her cool composure.

 _“Yeah, definitely,”_ Yuta mimics her tone, nodding seriously. “I’ll be looking out for you guys during movie night! Enjoy!”

With that, he walks over to the other side of the room, where he’s sitting with a couple of other counselors.

Yerim swears under her breath, quick little hisses that sound almost comical in her sweet voice.

“What happened?” Donghyuck asks. He’s holding a drink in each hand, one which he passes over to Jaemin. Jeno’s drinking the same purple type of milk tea that Doyoung had been drinking last week. The sight of it makes Mark feel a little queasy.

Donghyuck’s drink looks nicer, though.

“What does it taste like?” Mark asks him, watching as the tapioca pearls travel up Donghyuck’s straw.

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck replies. “I got oolong, so it tastes like… oolong tea? Not too sweet.”

“No, I mean, I’ve never had boba before,” Mark says.

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Seriously? There’s like a boba shop on every street in Fremont,” he says. “I forgot it isn’t as common in the northeast.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “I don’t know, I’ve just never had the chance to get it.”

Donghyuck chews on a couple of tapioca pearls before swallowing. “We should go sometime,” he offers. “I can order for you if you don’t know what you want.”

“Donghyuck has good taste,” Jeno affirms. Donghyuck smiles at the compliment, before turning back towards Mark.

“Want to try?” Donghyuck offers, holding his drink out towards Mark.

Mark shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says.

 

 

 

 

 

The counselors’ host Movie Night in the same hall that they go to every day for the morning lecture. They’ve hung a projector screen over the chalkboards. Renjun makes them sit near Yerim, who makes faces at Yuta before the videos start. Donghyuck and Mark end up next to each other, Jeno to Mark’s left.

The lights have been turned off, everyone rendered into shadowy silhouettes. Somehow, the darkness makes Mark feel safer. Less nervous.

“Here’s the first video,” Yuta announces, once everyone’s filed into the hall. “Hope you guys enjoy this week’s Mandatory Fun!”

The title of the video is _Regular Homotopies in a Plane, Part I_. It starts off with a bout of static, and Donghyuck watches the title screen with furrowed brows.

“How is there a part two for this shit,” he whispers to Mark. “Regular homotopies? What the hell?”

The video looks like it was made more than fifty years ago. The narrator’s disembodied voice filters through the hall, muffled by the poor quality of the recording.

Donghyuck muffles a yawn after a couple of minutes.

“Can I sleep on you?” Donghyuck asks, voice soft. “I’m kinda, ah, tired.”

“Sure,” Mark says. Donghyuck’s head feels warm on his shoulder.

Usually, Mark doesn’t like it when others sleep on him, but Donghyuck’s the perfect height so that neither of them has to adjust their positions. It isn’t awkward; it’s perfect.

On the other side of Donghyuck, Jaemin looks over at them without saying anything. Mark meets his gaze, face expressionless. He’s not sure what Jaemin thinks of—anything, really.

“The only way for two integers to be close is to be equal,” the narrator announces, breaking the moment. Everyone laughs at that, and the noise makes Donghyuck stir.

“That isn’t very rigorous,” Donghyuck mumbles quietly. It’s endearing as hell, almost overwhelming. Donghyuck smells good, in a sweet, human way. It makes Mark want to run his hands through his hair and savor this moment for a lifetime.

Once the video ends, the lights come back on. Donghyuck blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the brightness.

“What are the takeaways from this video?” Yuta asks, grinning up at the students. None of them look even half as excited as Yuta.

“Come on, you get candy if you answer the question well,” Taeyong says. He holds up a package of Jolly Ranchers, shaking them for emphasis.

Jaemin raises his hand.

“Yes, Jaemin?” Yuta says.

“Did you choose this video?”

“I, well, yes I did,” Yuta replies.

" _Why_ did you choose it," Jaemin deadpans. Yuta’s shocked expression is enough to send most of the students—including Mark—into a fit of laughter. He and Donghyuck share a smile, and it makes Mark fall into more giggles.

“Okay, okay,” Taeyong says hurriedly, clapping his hands together. “No candy for that response. Time for the next video!”

The lights shut off again, and the next video begins to play. Mark groans, recognizing the creepy panda. He isn’t sure whether he’s glad that Donghyuck’s stopped sleeping on him or not. There was something about that closeness that made Mark’s heart beat altogether too fast, but he’s not sure if the way they’re sitting _now_ —with Donghyuck’s left hand casually draped across Mark’s right wrist—helps the situation that much more.

Mark tries to ignore it, the feeling that’s been budding in his chest. He isn’t sure whether it’s a blooming flower or a carnivorous fly-trap, but it’s nerve-wracking nonetheless. Every look he shares with Donghyuck, every laugh—it makes him happy, but more than that, he’s _confused_.

They make it out of movie night in high spirits. Despite what Yerim had said—yes, the videos had turned out to be boring and some were potentially scarring—they all had a pretty good time.

“Stop singing that damn Panda commercial,” Jeno snipes at Renjun, who’s been humming it the whole time as they walk back towards the dorms. It’s dark out. Mark’s reminded of the quiet intimacy of the dark lecture hall. The way he accepted Donghyuck’s touch so easily in the shadows.

Donghyuck falls into a fit of laughter as Renjun continues to croon the song into Jeno’s ears.

Mark just watches him. Just thinks to himself: Donghyuck’s beautiful.

Donghyuck makes eye-contact with him, mid-laugh, and he looks away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday morning finds Mark outside, in a run. He matches pace with Jaemin as they progress along the side of the Charles River. They slow to a stop upon seeing the Boston University Bridge—it’s where they both agreed to end their morning run.

It’s a perfect, sunny morning. A little bit on the early side, compared to when Mark usually wakes up on the weekends, but it’s _nice_. The brightness of the morning makes Mark feel all new again.

As they take sips of water, Jaemin gestures to the grassy areas surrounding the river. There’s a bit of playground equipment, several benches where people are sitting around to enjoy the nice weather.

“This is the Esplanade,” he says.

“Like a park?” Mark asks. There are children playing on the nearby playground. They play on the swing sets and jump over the structures surrounded by wood chips.

“Yeah,” Jaemin says. He wipes the sweat on his face with the front of his t-shirt. They contemplate the kids in silence.

Watching the children, Mark’s reminded of his own parents. Of the way he spent his childhood, careless and unknowing, clueless to the more complicated world around him. How he always wanted to be older, to be more mature, to be grown up, until he grew up and realized what all that entailed.

“Hey,” Jaemin says. His voice is so perfectly casual it must be faked—Jaemin’s careful in that respect. “What’s with you and Donghyuck?”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks, swallowing dryly. His eyes flit away from the children, towards Jaemin, then back.

“You know what I mean,” Jaemin challenges. He raises an eyebrow.

“We’re friends,” Mark says carefully. He stops looking at Jaemin, eyes focused on the children. Laughing and playing. One of them calls for their mother, screaming with joy when embraced.

He’s nervous, again. Why is he always so _nervous_?

“You’re friends with Donghyuck the way Yuta is _friends_ with Taeyong,” Jaemin says, voice curling around the word “friends” derisively. In that case, Jaemin means that they aren’t friends at all.

(The five of them had caught Yuta and Taeyong holding hands, out on a date, a couple nights back. It had been… interesting, to say the least, to see his favorite counselor flustered in front of a couple of students.)

Mark blushes. He hates—it feels so—he hates it, the emotions he faces, the way it curls up within him all afraid and gross.

“You have no idea,” Mark chokes out. Because Jaemin doesn’t. Because Jaemin’s the golden boy, and self-assured, and doesn’t hate— _this_. Doesn’t hate _himself_. “You have no idea—what you’re—”

Mark breaks off, barking out a laugh that feels bitter and raw in his throat.

“Shut the fuck up,” he finally says, quietly.

“Woah, chill,” Jaemin says, holding his hands up as if being questioned by the police. His easygoing smile becomes a little sharper. “Just asking.” His voice becomes gentler. “No big deal, you know?”

Mark shakes his head. He can’t bring himself to look directly at Jaemin. “Don’t ask me again,” he warns. His voice trembles, despite himself.

Jaemin loses the smile, looking over at him carefully.

Mark hates it. He can tell what Jaemin’s thinking—can guess as much, anyways—and he doesn’t want to hear any of it.

“It’s okay, Mark,” Jaemin says. He pats Mark’s shoulder hesitantly.

“Just,” Mark grits out. “Don’t.” With that, he sets off towards the dorms, leaving Jaemin to jog after him in quick haste.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, the five of them head for the practice rooms. It seems to be their solace in times of stress, the place where they first bonded together. Mark’s got more than enough stress after that non-conversation with Jaemin; they haven’t really talked since. The thought of the upcoming midterms, announced earlier that day during lecture, only adds to the pressure.

“The midterms aren’t what matters,” Johnny had said. “It’s the midterm writeup that—”

“—Not to say that the midterms don’t matter,” Taeil had interrupted with a tight smile. “But your score is just a number, alright? It doesn’t impact anything.”

Not that it stops anyone from stressing over scores. According to the second-years, getting a score over 200 makes someone one of the top people in the program. Last year, Lucas got a 240. Yerim got a 215. Jungwoo got a 205.

Mark’s so nervous that it’s almost useless to concentrate. He tries to focus, but his eyes glaze over. He’s tired. He can’t—he can’t—

He can’t.

“Are you alright?” Donghyuck asks, gently touching Mark’s shoulder.

Donghyuck. Almost the cause of Mark’s issues, in a way.

No, that’s too generous. Mark’s always had his own issues. Donghyuck just—unearths them, brings them to the surface, shines a light upon them that Mark can’t ignore. He wishes he could ignore it. He’s never wanted anything more, he thinks.

Mark shrugs. “'M fine,” he says shortly.

Jaemin starts playing the piano. It’s a new piece, this time.

“One of Chopin Nocturnes,” Jeno whispers to him from the other side. For once, Mark doesn’t need Jeno’s knowledge; he recognizes the song himself. They watch Jaemin together, almost entranced. It’s beautiful, and the way Jaemin puts his whole body into it, into the phrasing of the piece—it’s—truly something else.

Mark, more than anything else, is sorry. He gets up, sitting beside Jaemin on the bench.

Jaemin looks up at him, a split-second acknowledgment with a small smile, before turning his attention back towards the piano keys.

Mark listens to him play, hand on his shoulder.

Once Jaemin finishes, he looks at Mark for a long moment. His eyes are impossibly kind and warm, the kind of dependability that Mark trusts. It’s a silent apology, for both of them.

Donghyuck comes over, too.

“That was so good, Jaemin,” Donghyuck says. “New piece?”

“Old piece,” Jaemin corrects. “I learned it last year—”

“—at the camp we both went to,” Mark finishes for him. “It’s still beautiful.”

Next, Jaemin starts playing Snow Halation. It’s one of the anime songs Renjun’s quite fond of. Mark has learned to recognize it over the course of the past couple of weeks. Donghyuck starts singing along, although he doesn’t know much of the Japanese words.

Renjun joins in, too. Of course, he knows every lyric. It’s nice. To surround himself in music like this, to feel almost euphorically forgetful of anything else, besides this, besides this _moment_.

Mark thinks he’ll be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The morning of the midterm, breakfast is quiet. Jaemin flips through his past problem sets idly. He somehow manages to convey an aura of relaxedness despite how nervous the rest of them are. Donghyuck, next to him, is reproving Euler’s theorem for the third time.

“I’m afraid of blanking during the test,” Donghyuck explains when he notices Mark’s glance. “This is the hardest one for me to remember.”

On the other side of Mark, Jeno practically _buzzes_ with nervousness. He doesn’t seem to be able to stop moving, stop fidgeting with either his knee or his fingers. It veers past distracting into downright concerning after the first couple of minutes.

Mark places a hand on Jeno’s arm. “Hey man, you okay?” he asks. He never thought Jeno to be the nervous type, at least not in this sort of way. Even just touching him, Mark can sense the pent up jittery energy within him.

“I was afraid of falling asleep during the test,” Jeno explains, rubbing at his eyes. “So I drank some coffee.” He’s always been the first to rest his head on someone else’s shoulder. It’s usually Jaemin’s, though occasionally he’ll shift towards Mark. Jeno’s too used to getting at least eight hours (Mark can’t believe it either) of sleep back home. Though, most of the time, Mark’s shoulder is occupied by Donghyuck anyways.

Mark stares at Jeno. “I drink coffee every morning, and I don’t start _vibrating_ ,” he says.

Jeno bites his lip. “I might’ve, um, never had coffee before?”

“Ever? Not even once?” Mark asks, genuinely confused. “Not even tiramisu?”

Jeno shakes his head. “No, not really,” he says. “So yeah. Now I can’t stop shaking.” He stares at his hand in fascination, as if it isn’t attached to his body. It trembles in front of his face.

"Holy shit.” Mark shakes his head. “Can you write, at least?”

“Yeah,” Jeno says. “I’m just a little, um, shaky—”

“Guys, what the hell!” Renjun announces, interrupting Jeno as he takes a seat at their table. “The alarm didn’t even ring this morning.”

He has no breakfast in his hands, and he looks more disheveled than Mark’s ever seen him: hair unkempt, shirt backward (or inside out? either way, it doesn’t look normal), and rubbing the sleep dust out of his eyes.

Behind him, Lucas looks equally as tired. “At least we got up in time for the midterm,” he offers with half a smile. “Relax, you’ll do fine. The midterm isn’t bad.”

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” Renjun replies to him, frustrated. He turns towards the rest of them, still seated at the table. “Whatever. We should go, guys, we’ll be late.”

The midterm, like any other major event at this program, is held at the hall where they attend the lecture. His counselor’s one of the proctors, along with Sicheng and Seulgi.

Doyoung’s the one to pass out the blue exam booklets. As he hands one to Mark, he pats his shoulder.

“Come on,” Doyoung murmurs to him. “You’ve got this.”

Mark clutches the exam booklet. The blankness of the pages, the light blue of the cover: all of it reminds him that he’s taking a _test_. It isn’t just fun and games and Doyoung’s chastising at the end of every problem set. The feeling is nerve-wracking.

A row below him, Donghyuck turns around and flashes Mark a quick thumbs up and grin. _Good luck_ , he mouths.

 _You too,_ Mark mouths back.

And then it begins.

Here’s the thing about Mark: he’s always been good at taking tests. Maybe it’s because he was subjected to them from a young age. Back when he lived in Manhattan, even the youngest of kids had to be tested in some way to be admitted to whatever magnet school was popular. Maybe it’s because he always tries to thrive under pressure, twisting the negativity into something that can push him further.

Either way, it goes… surprisingly well. Mark powers through it with machine-like efficiency. He recognizes how to do each problem, proves it, moves on. The midterm has twenty-five questions—double the length of a regular problem set—and he makes it through a little more than half. Before he knows it, the hour and thirty minutes allotted to him has finished.

“Alright, time’s up!” Seulgi announces, clapping her hands together. “Please hand in your exam booklets.”

Donghyuck is close behind him as they make their way towards the front of the lecture hall.

“How was it?” Mark asks.

Donghyuck shrugs. “Fine,” he replies. “I was in the middle of a proof when they called time, though.”

“Which problems did you—”

“GUYS! Before you leave, Seulgi has an announcement!” Doyoung yells, glaring at the students who had been half-way through the doorway. Jaemin’s one of them, and he slowly drags his feet back inside the lecture hall.

“Today’s Mandatory Fun is the annual, highly anticipated talent show!” Seulgi says, a bright smile upon her face. “We’ll be busy, well, grading _this_ —” she gestures over to the tall stack of exam booklets beside her— “so there’s no pset for today.”

“A free day,” Mark says under his breath, almost disbelieving. It seems too good to be true.

“And _yes_ , you’ll have to do the infamous midterm write-up once you get the exam back,” Seulgi continues. “It’ll take the whole weekend, so try to make the best out of today.”

And there it is. Everyone knows that the midterm write-up is the _most_ important problem set. They have to write a solution to every question on the midterm, and the director of the program reads over the write-up. This is what he references when writing college recommendation letters, when re-admitting second years to the program. It’s— _important_.

Donghyuck elbows him gently. “Mark, stop freaking out,” he says softly.

“I’m not freaking out,” Mark replies. He’s not freaking out at all. He’s completely, totally, and absolutely _fine_.

“We still have the whole day free,” Donghyuck continues. “Wanna grab boba with me?”

 _There’s still the whole day free._ The calm before the storm, Mark supposes. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s ask the others if they want to come along.” Without waiting for Donghyuck’s reply, he turns towards Jaemin and Jeno and starts walking over to them.

“That’s not…” Donghyuck trails off, following after Mark.

“Do you wanna get boba with us?” Mark asks them. Renjun squints at him from his perch beside Jeno.

“Who’s _us_?” Renjun asks.

“Me and Donghyuck,” Mark replies. Renjun raises his eyebrows, and with every second of silence that passes, Mark feels increasingly uncomfortable. He avoids looking at Jaemin.

For some reason, Donghyuck hasn’t said anything either.

Jaemin breaks the silence easily with a small smile. “I’ve gotta water my plants, so nah,” he says. “Jeno’s helping.”

“I can’t come either,” Renjun says quickly, turning to share a grin with Jeno. “I’m preparing for the talent show. Lucas and I are preparing a martial arts demonstration.”

“Wait, you do martial arts?” Donghyuck asks, momentarily distracted by the topic. “I used to do taekwondo, but I quit before high school.”

“Yeah, I’m an expert,” Renjun says. He’s barely suppressing a smile.

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at Renjun. “How long?”

“Um,” Renjun says. “Gotta blast!” He drags Jeno and Jaemin along with, the trio laughing as they exit the lecture hall.

And then there’s just him and Donghyuck. He thought he had done a good job at compartmentalizing, at packing all of the baggage associated with Donghyuck into a tiny box and shoving it far into the depths of his mind. Evidently, he was wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

“How far away is it?” Mark asks as they wait at the crosswalk. His palms are sweaty, for some reason— _why are they sweaty?_ —so he wipes them on his thighs.

He’s kind of nervous, to be spending time with Donghyuck one on one, like this. Before, Mark might have described Donghyuck’s warmth as akin to the glow of a candle in the dark, welcome and reassuring. Now, Donghyuck feels like dynamite, red-hot and ready to destroy everything Mark’s built up inside of him.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck admits. He squints down at the screen of his phone. “It says a couple more minutes, it’s pretty close to Newbury Street.”

“Is this where you went with Jeno last time?” The traffic light signals to pedestrians and they begin to cross. Mark barely avoids walking into a tall woman.

“No, I wanted to try someplace new,” Donghyuck says. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, of course, it’s fine.” Mark nods, keeps nodding, feeling somewhat like an idiot. The atmosphere’s so cozy, but he feels a little on edge despite it all.

“Hm,” Donghyuck says. “What type of drink do you want?” He’s touchy with him as they wait in line, chin resting on his shoulder, nose nuzzling into his neck, and Mark relaxes into it for a couple of moments.

“Don’t know,” Mark mumbles, feeling soft. “I’ve never had boba before.”

When they step forward, the cashier blinks at them for a second before asking what they’d like to order. It makes tension return to Mark’s spine. Donghyuck steps away. Whether it’s because of the neutral, passive gaze of the cashier, bringing them to the outside world, or because they need to order, Mark isn’t sure.

Donghyuck rattles off their order in a fast string of words— _half sugar, less ice, herbal jelly_ is all Mark can make out. Before he knows it, they’re seated across from each other, drinks in hand.

Mark stares at the cup in front of him. Donghyuck has already started sipping away his own drink, which is hot pink and translucent.

“How do I…” Mark gestures at the cup, “put the straw in?”

Donghyuck slides over to the other side of the booth, knees knocking against Mark’s. “I’ll do it for you,” he says. “You just have to poke it in fast.” To demonstrate, he quickly pierces the lid of the cup with the straw.

“See?” Donghyuck smiles over at him. “Come on, try it. Do you like it?”

Mark takes a sip. It isn’t as sweet as Mark expected, thankfully—he’s never been one for having completely sugary drinks—but it’s delicious.

Looking at Donghyuck, Mark has a feeling that even if the drink tasted terrible, he’d still fucking love it anyway. He’s in too deep, so deep, for this boy seemingly made of sunsets and mathematics.

He shifts his legs over so that he’s no longer making any physical contact with Donghyuck.

Donghyuck holds his gaze for a long moment. Despite the movement around him—the cafe is pretty busy at this time of day—Mark feels a sense of stagnation, of stillness. He _can’t_ move, not when Donghyuck’s eyes compel him to stay. Not when his heart renders itself indecisive out of sheer fear.

“What are you so afraid of?” Donghyuck asks, point blank. He has a habit of asking questions when Mark least expects them as if to catch him off guard. It’s effective.

In some ways, Donghyuck still is a candle for him. Donghyuck shines a light on the darkest parts of him, brings them to the surface even when he’d rather let them fester within. It’s the most persistent, annoying sort of helpful he’s faced.

“What?” Mark asks. He wipes his hands on his shorts again. Nervous tick. He’s always so nervous.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck says. His smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. “You seemed, ah. Afraid.”

Mark looks away, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. Chewing on the tapioca pearls is an action that keeps his mind off of—well, he doesn’t know.

“I was afraid, a lot,” Donghyuck continues quietly. “Back in middle school, I was—confused. I didn’t understand how I felt about, ah, myself. Other people, too.”

Mark’s throat feels dry. He coughs into his elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I realized that I had a crush on one of my older friends,” Donghyuck says. “He helped TA the taekwondo class I took, and I realized—”

 _He._ Mark’s eyes screw shut, but he hears every word with infinitely more clarity.

“… it’s okay, you know?” Donghyuck concludes softly. “Whatever you feel comfortable with. But staying true to yourself—that’s—”

“I get it,” Mark says. He finally looks over at Donghyuck, shifting his knees back over so the two of them touch again. “Thank you.”

Maybe it’s time for him to face what has been brought to light.

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s do 4’33,” Jaemin suggests. He’s sprawled out on the carpet, head on Jeno’s lap. Renjun, beside them, runs his hands absent-mindedly through Jaemin’s hair. Sometimes he ends up patting Jaemin’s face; Mark suspects it’s not entirely unintentional.

After lunch, they headed over to the practice rooms to rehearse for the talent show. 

" _Fuck_ no," Donghyuck replies. He’s got his phone out, scrolling through his Instagram feed. It’s mostly artists and drawings, and Mark watches him double tap at the screen every couple of posts.

“What’s 4’33?” Mark asks.

“A meme masquerading as post-modernist art,” Donghyuck replies, turning to face him. “Or the other way around. Take your pick.”

Renjun squints at Donghyuck. “What’s post-modernist art?”

“Oh, Donghyuck’s _big_ on art history,” Jaemin says, lifting his head for a moment before settling back into Jeno’s lap.

“And art,” Mark says, nudging Donghyuck’s side.

“And history,” Jeno adds.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Renjun points out.

Donghyuck blushes. " _Anyways_ ," he says, rolling his eyes, “shouldn’t we decide on _something_ for the talent show? We don’t have that much time before dinner…”

Eventually, they decide on something classic. It’s a song that all five of them know pretty well, and Mark’s almost excited to perform it in front of everyone. Even if it’s embarrassing, he’ll still be able to laugh it off with Donghyuck and the others by his side.

The door opens when Jaemin’s in the middle of a complicated run, and he accidentally plays a jarring chord as the door thuds against the wall.

“Oh, are you guys rehearsing for the talent show?” Jungwoo asks, peering over at them. Behind him, Lucas waves. The two of them are pretty inseparable, except for when Jungwoo disappears in the middle of the night.

“Um, yeah,” Renjun says.

“Will the counselors provide a piano?” Jaemin asks, coming towards the doorway. He’s still half in awe of Jungwoo. “Or at least a keyboard?”

“Last year, the counselors bought a keyboard,” Lucas offers. “But! It’s pretty, um, well—”

“They always return it the next day,” Jungwoo says. “And it’s a pretty crap keyboard.”

“Don’t worry!” Lucas says, reassuring. He seems to mostly be looking over Jaemin’s head, at Renjun. “Y’all will sound good regardless.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you ready?” Donghyuck whispers to him, as they make their way up to the front of the “stage”. The counselors attempted to transform the lecture hall. They’ve added a couple of streamers to the walls, but everything remains unchanged.

“I think so,” Mark says. He stares out into the crowd in front of them. It’s not that many people when he thinks about it. About eighty or so students attend the camp, along with twenty counselors—but the weight of their gaze feels like he’s about to perform at the Super Bowl.

Jaemin appears after a moment, wheeling in a giant trash basket. “We’re ready to perform,” he tells Yuta.

Yuta looks at them, brows furrowed. “It says here that Jeno and Renjun are performing along with you guys,” he says. “Where…?”

Jaemin shrugs. “You’ll see.”

As planned, Renjun enters dramatically from the back-door of the lecture hall, walking down the steps as soon as Jaemin begins to play the piano. Donghyuck joins him, the two of them singing in harmony.

“ _Why were they open,_ ” Donghyuck sings. “ _Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash—_ ”

It’s Mark’s cue. Jeno sticks his head out of the trash barrel—causing the audience to clap and yell in excitement, for a couple moments—and Mark helps him out. The trash barrel ends up sideways, on the ground, but thankfully there’s no garbage in it.

“You tossed it in the trash, you did,” Renjun sings.

Mark joins in as soon as they get to the chorus. It isn’t perfect—of course, it isn’t, they prepared in a matter of hours—but something about it sounds gloriously triumphant to Mark’s ears. Jaemin tries his hardest to convey his own passion on the keyboard, the five of them joined in song. Sure, the keyboard’s a shitty tinny-sounding version of the grand piano they usually use, but Mark feels as if he’s in the practice rooms. Cautiously trying to test his limits, trying to see if he can sing. He can do anything, maybe, if he really wanted. It’s the first time he’s felt loud, heard, like this.

The rest of the talent show itself is hilarious. There’s Jongho, who sings a song from Dear Evan Hansen while ripping a series of apples in half. After his act, he hands out the halves to students in the audience. There’s a failed juggling act. Lucas and Jungwoo perform together, Lucas playing the guitar while Jungwoo sings.

Mark laughs and claps along, sharing a smile with Donghyuck almost every time, and it’s—nice.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s still an hour left before curfew, after the talent show.

“Let’s walk around,” Renjun says.

Jeno nods, resting his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna go back inside just yet,” he mumbles.

There’s something about the night, the harsh fluorescent lights shining down on them as they decide, that makes everything feel magical and different. Mark can sense it in the air, the anticipation heavy on his tongue. It crackles through his veins, electric.

They end up at the docks again, the city lights reflected onto the surface of the Charles River.

“Boston’s so pretty,” Donghyuck says. His eyes are mirrors of the river, or maybe mirrors of the city. All Mark knows is that Donghyuck shines more than any person he’s ever known before.

Mark keeps staring at him.

“It’s so pretty,” Donghyuck repeats as if his wonder wasn’t properly conveyed the first time. He’s holding Mark’s hand. When did he grab it? Why didn’t Mark notice?

Already, Donghyuck’s touch is a familiar fire. The sort of thing he looks forward to, longs for in a wordless way he can’t name.

Mark swallows. In the dark, it’s easy to hold hands. To their right, Jeno’s discussing something with Renjun. He looks over, makes eye contact with Jaemin.

Maybe Jaemin already noticed and didn’t voice it. Maybe he didn’t notice. Does it matter?

“Yeah,” Mark says finally. “Everything’s beautiful here.”

He’s been to Boston before. All the lights remind him of so many things. Of his past, of his first girlfriend, who had been pretty and soft and who Mark had been infatuated with. Of his first crush, who was a boy three years older with a laugh that rang out like bells.

Donghyuck nods. Everything feels too fragile for words. Mark can only rely on his thoughts, intangible and wispy, to guide him.

Mark trusts these boys like no else. It’s something that takes a hold of him, makes him feel breathless. Sitting next to Donghyuck, it doesn’t feel so difficult at all.

Renjun stands up, shattering the quiet. “I LOVE BOSTON!” he shouts.

“Yeahhh,” Jaemin adds, getting up and resting his chin on Renjun’s shoulder.

“ _Fuck_ being allergic to cats,” Jeno yells.

Mark watches them wordlessly, then looks back at Donghyuck. His eyes reflect the light, all the things that remind him of who he truly is. Donghyuck’s hand is an anchor, and it keeps him grounded.

“I think I’m… bisexual,” Mark whispers. Donghyuck squeezes his hand in response.

It barely made a sound. But for now, that’s enough.

 

 

 

 

 

They stumble back to the dorms just minutes before curfew, too enamored with the city at night to walk back quickly. Doyoung texted Mark just minutes before: _pls come to qsl for mdyr_.

Mark feels bad when he sees Doyoung. His counselor’s barely awake, muffling a yawn when Mark walks in. Quiet Study Lounge, at this hour, barely has any people in it—Yerim and Chaeyoung are conversing quietly in the corner, but that’s about it.

“I’m sorry to make you wait,” Mark says, sitting down next to Doyoung.

Doyoung muffles another yawn. “My circadian rhythm is shit anyways,” he says. “An hour here or there doesn’t, um, make that much of a difference.”

“We can meet tomorrow if you’re tired,” Mark offers. Honestly, he’s not sure if he wants to see his midterm score. He doesn’t want a bad end to this eventful day.

“No,” Doyoung insists. “I had to show you today.” He pulls out the blue exam booklet, then flips to the first page.

“So here’s your rubric,” Doyoung continues. “Do you see this?”

Mark squints down at the rubric. There’s a series of numbers—the amount of credit he earned for each question—and the final score at the bottom. _Oh._

“Woah,” Mark breathes out. He got—above 200 points.

“Yes,” Doyoung nods. He hesitates, before reaching out to pat Mark’s shoulder briefly. “You did _so_ well, Mark.”

Mark looks down. He’s afraid of looking at Doyoung—he’s afraid of tearing up.

“Of course, you still have a lot to improve,” Doyoung says. “There’s some rigor issues that I expect you to correct on the write-up. But, seriously—”

“Are you still hounding this kid?” Yuta interrupts, stopping by their table with an easygoing smile. He pats Doyoung’s head.

Doyoung frowns up at Yuta, batting his hand away ineffectually. “I was just telling him what a good job he did,” Doyoung sniffs. “I’m _very_ proud of my students.”

“Alright,” Yuta says. He winks at Mark. “Good job on the midterm though.”

“Thanks,” Mark says.

Doyoung watches Yuta as he leaves, frown deepening. “So insufferable,” he mutters under his breath. “Anyway, Mark, you should rest up. The midterm write-up starts tomorrow.”

“I will,” Mark says. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” Doyoung asks, confused.

Mark fidgets. “For being my counselor,” he replies. “I’ve learned… a lot.” In more than one way.

Doyoung smiles at him. “There’s still more to learn,” he says. “Just you wait.”

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The midterm writeup is no fucking joke. The five of them head over to the practice rooms for the day to finish as much as possible.

There are twenty-five questions on the midterm exam. _Twenty-five_. Granted, most of the problems are review questions from the past problem sets, but it’s still a lot of work.

The quietness of the room calms him down, though. There’s something about the silent presence of his friends, like an invisible cloak, that’s a wordless comfort.

After a couple of hours, Jaemin gets up to play—he gets antsy like that, unable to resist the urge of the keys—but it’s mostly silence. Everyone’s got their earbuds in, all deep focus.

A while later, Donghyuck taps his shoulder. “Can I share earbuds?” he asks in a soft whisper. “My phone’s charging.”

“Sure,” Mark replies. He doesn’t hesitate for as long as he would expect. To him, sharing music isn’t something casual. It’s something special, to feel that connection to someone else, to have your heart connected to someone else through white wire.

But he trusts Donghyuck.

Donghyuck hums quietly, recognizing the song. “I know this one,” he says. “It’s good.”

After that, they don’t say much, everyone working in as much silence as possible. Donghyuck leans against his shoulder, for a couple of minutes, when he gets tired. This sort of peaceful coexistence—this is what Mark loves. The comfort of knowing that just being near someone else can feel safe.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The next time Mark goes out to run with Jaemin, Jeno and Lucas come along. Jeno mumbled something about being on track a couple days back, and Lucas is one of the most athletic people Mark knows. It’s a lot of fun. Lucas is _fast_ , too, and his pace challenges the rest of them to keep up. By the end of it, Mark is exhausted.

“That was so fun!” Lucas says, wiping the sweat off of his brow. Jeno watches him, almost awestruck, for a couple moments. Mark can’t blame him.

Jaemin drinks water silently, watching Jeno and Lucas with keen eyes.

Mark joins him, the two of them seated on the grassy area of the esplanade resting together. The sky seems almost artificially blue, brilliant and clear.

It’s beautiful. So many things are beautiful if Mark looks hard enough.

He’s reminded of the last conversation he has with Jaemin here. The awkward combativeness of being faced with the truth too early, too soon.

Now the timing’s just right.

“I think I like Donghyuck,” Mark says. He looks away from Jaemin, focusing on the grass below him. He yanks out the stems, one by one, and twirls them in his fingers.

“And I’m bisexual,” Mark adds. “Or the other way around. Um.”

He says it quietly, intended for Jaemin’s ears only. Of course, this means that everyone else overhears.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jeno says, sitting down beside Mark and slinging an arm over his shoulder. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Dude, congrats,” Lucas says, sitting down on the other side of Jeno. He frowns. “Is that what people say?”

“No clue,” Mark replies honestly.

Jaemin pulls him in for a hug, sticky with sweat. It feels gross—but on a metaphysical level, it’s nice.

“Thanks for telling us,” Jaemin whispers into Mark’s neck. “I’m—proud of you.”

Somehow, those eight words protect him more than his denial ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

The weeknights always blur into each other, especially the hazy hours, after curfew, that the five of them spend in either Jaemin’s room or the floor lounge. There’s never any air-conditioning, just the loud whirring of box fans that, while making quite a noise, don’t really make the room all that much colder.

“I’m _bored_ ,” Jaemin whines, dragging out the vowels. “Let’s do something fun.”

“You’re always bored,” Donghyuck points out. “Wait thirty minutes, the rest of us need to finish our psets.”

“Fine.” Jaemin lays down on top of his mattress, kicking his legs up. “We should play a game when you’re all done, though.”

“What game?” Jeno asks. He’s looking up at Jaemin from where he’s seated on the floor, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Truth or truth,” Jaemin says. “‘Cause everyone’s too chicken to do dares anyway.”

They start out with really tame questions at first. Mark barely looks up from his problem set to answer the questions as they go around in a circle. Sure, there are some unexpected answers—in response to “How many toes do you have?”, Jeno answers “nine,” then goes into a story of how _that_ had occurred—but nothing overly interesting.

Jaemin, of course, is the one to stir things up. He’s always the most easily bored out of the five of them.

“Do you like someone in the state of Massachusetts?” Jaemin asks them, eyes gleaming. “I’ll go first. My answer’s yes.”

“Yes,” Renjun says shortly. “And no, _don’t_ ask who it is.”

Jaemin snickers at that, before looking over at Jeno. “What about you?” he says. There’s something strange in his tone, not that Mark would be able to tell.

Jeno shrugs. “Sure,” he says.

“Donghyuck?” Jaemin continues.

Donghyuck flushes, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah,” he admits.

Mark merely nods silently, head spinning. So all of them like someone from this camp, essentially. His mind fixates on Donghyuck in particular.

Who could Donghyuck like?

“Alright,” Jeno says. “Next question.”

“I’ve got one,” Renjun says, leaning back against the mattress on Donghyuck’s bed. He stretches his arms backward, and Donghyuck grasps his hands for a quick second before letting go. The sight of it makes something twist inside Mark.

“Yeah?” Jaemin says.

“On a scale from one to ten,” Renjun says, “how gay are you?”

Jaemin frowns. “Is this some Kinsey shit?”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

“Eight, probably.” Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, clearly not very interested in the conversation.

“Uh… four?” Jeno says. He shrugs. “No clue.”

“Seven, I think,” Donghyuck adds.

Then it’s Mark’s turn. He looks at the rest of them, their faces sweating and expectant, and swallows.

“Five,” he says.

Jeno reaches out to him and grabs his hand, squeezing it for a brief moment. Renjun, on the other side of him, pats his shoulder.

And the rest of the night, like all the others before it, blurs into the next.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

And, almost all too soon, the next Mandatory Fun comes upon them. It’s the Counselor Talent show, or, as Yerim describes it, the “knock-off version of the Student Talent Show”.

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Jaemin reasons, taking a bite out of his stir-fry. He grimaces at the taste but continues to chew.

“You’d be surprised,” Yerim replies. Her eyes narrow at the thought of it. “The counselors just… half-ass it completely, I don’t know.”

“Last year,” Jungwoo says, “one of the ’talents’ was being able to juggle, and the counselor dropped all of the balls.”

“It’s kinda funny to laugh at them, though,” Yerim says. She turns to Renjun and pouts at him. “Don’t ditch, please.”

They don’t ditch. The five of them never end up skipping mandatory fun, from week to week. Whether it’s in deference to Yerim’s pout or a lack of better things to do or just an obligation to Yuta, Mark doesn’t know. Even so, they end up in the same seats in the lecture hall that could almost be called their second (third? after the practice rooms) home.

Despite Yerim’s warnings, the Talent show starts off with a bang. Sicheng, one of the counselors from Britain, does a Chinese traditional dance and backflips in _midair_. Everyone’s stunned, Mark exchanging shocked looks with Donghyuck as the song progresses.

Then the parodies start. This is the part that reminds Mark of what Yerim said about this being a “knock-off” talent show.

“Hi guys, I’m, uh, going to be performing a song for you guys,” Doyoung says. He’s holding an apple, no doubt to mimic Jongho’s act. He begins singing the lyrics to “breathin” by Ariana Grande—holy shit, how is Doyoung so good at singing—and starts trying to split the apple in half.

It’s almost awkward to watch Doyoung struggle to break open the apple, his voice ringing out on a high note as he grasps at the fruit futilely. Eventually, he chucks the apple to the ground, causing everyone in the audience to laugh.

Most of the counselors aren’t as creative as the students, but they make up for talent through sheer humor and deadpan sensibility. Johnny and Jaehyun’s freestyle “rap” causes everyone to shout and clap along to the improvised beat.

Mark spends fifty-percent of his time looking at Donghyuck. Smiling with him as they watch the acts, whispering comments to each other as they applaud. Donghyuck’s almost touchier than usual, curling a hand over the back of Mark’s neck and cupping his cheek more than once.

Mark’s reminded of what Renjun said, all that time ago, back when they were watching Yuta’s lecture. _Flirting._

He likes it; he revels in every small detail, luxuriates in the sound of Donghyuck’s voice filtering to his hair through the applause around him. It’s nice.

Later that night, Donghyuck stops by. Thankfully, Mark’s finished changing from his shower when Donghyuck enters.

“Want to do laundry?” Donghyuck asks. He’s toweling his hair, also having got out of the shower. It’s 2am, but nowhere near late by weekend standards. Mark almost laughs to think of the days when he would go to sleep at 11pm or midnight, given his terrible sleep habits now.

“Sure,” Mark replies. They smile at each other for a moment.

They sit on top of the same laundry machine together, thighs pressing together, knees knocking against each other. It’s the type of physical contact that would have rattled Mark’s bones, just a couple weeks ago.

Mark takes a breath. The humming and turning of the washing machines almost calm him, at this point. They pulse along with his own washing-machine heart.

“Hey,” Donghyuck says. He reaches for Mark’s hand, holding it easily. Casually. He looks into Mark’s eyes intently, watching for a reaction.

This time, Mark doesn’t pull away.

“You aren’t—ah, scared anymore?” Donghyuck asks.

Mark has never seen Donghyuck’s eyes so close up, at least not in so bright a light.

He forces himself to look away, focusing on the tangible tether Donghyuck’s hands create. It grounds him. His anchor, his light.

“No, I’m still scared,” Mark admits. “But—I have you.”

“Huh.”

Mark listens to the sound of the two of them breathing, just quiet inhales and exhales, for several moments.

“Tell me something,” Mark says. “Anything, really.”

“Anything?”

“I just wanna listen.”

Donghyuck squeezes his hand. “Okay, how about… remember when I was talking about post-modernism?”

“Yeah, kinda?”

“So there was this type of art called Happenings, and basically what would happen is, ah, the piece of art wouldn’t be an actual artwork.” Donghyuck crosses his legs, then uncrosses them. His excited energy bleeds into everything he does.

“What do you mean?” Mark asks.

“It was kinda like a play,” Donghyuck says. “Participants did a bunch of scripted stuff. It was weird, I don’t know.”

“But what I do find interesting,” he continues, “is that it blurred the lines. Between human and object. Between art and performance.”

Donghyuck’s just—fascinating. Passionate in everything he does, and at every turn there is something that Mark never expects.

“How do you know so much about art?” Mark asks. He leans forward, interested in hearing the answer.

“I don’t know, it’s interesting? Music, art, math…” Donghyuck trails off, meeting Mark’s eyes. “I love all things that are beautiful.” He doesn’t look away.

 _You’re beautiful,_ Mark thinks, unbidden. It’s so cheesy that he blushes in embarrassment.

And so they talk. The nights always seem to flow like this, but it’s different with just Donghyuck. Everything becomes fast and slow at once, a mess of contradictions in his senses.

Somehow, it isn’t surprising at all when Donghyuck leans forward, cupping his cheek to guide him into a kiss.

It’s fumbling, a little awkward with Mark’s glasses in the way. Donghyuck immediately breaks away, giggling as he gently slides Mark’s frames off of his face. He leans in again.

Mark’s kissed before, but never like this. Never with this slow-moving hunger that seeps into his blood.

Mark slides his hands up Donghyuck’s arms, holding onto his shoulders. They pull each other closer, _closer,_ like nothing else matters in the world. All the while, his heart beats in time with the spinning of the washing machines.


	3. PART THREE: QUADRATIC RECIPROCITY

The next day, Mark can’t stop smiling. He’s shy, almost bashful. Just the sight of Donghyuck makes him blush; he can feel the blood rushing to his face. He’s so easily flustered, and Donghyuck revels in teasing Mark. He’s more touchy with Mark than before, often randomly resting his hand on top of Mark’s when they sit next to each other or trying to go in for a kiss on the cheek.

It’s adorable, but it isn’t the best for his heart rate.

Mark’s trying to focus on his problem set—the keyword here is _trying_ —when Jaehyun and Jungwoo come by. Why they’re at the library together, no one knows.

“Oh, it’s the guys who stole my mattress,” Jaehyun greets good-naturedly.

Jeno laughs at that. “That was all Jungwoo,” he says. “He’s the true mastermind here.”

“You know,” Jaehyun says, smiling so that the dimple in his cheek was visible, “there’s a counselor who doesn’t lock his door.”

“Who?” Jaemin asks. They haven’t engaged in mattress-stealing since that one time a couple of weeks back.

Jaehyun’s smile widens. “You’ll never guess.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which leaves Mark here, reporting on his counselor’s whereabouts as secretly as possible.

Mark never would’ve expected himself hiding behind the wall like this, peeking out for a sign of his counselor like a spy on a mission. His heart’s pounding, ears ringing in exhilaration.

Finally, he spots Doyoung entering the Quiet Study Lounge, coffee in one hand.

 _Is he out of the room?_ Jaemin texts.

 _Target has entered QSL,_ Mark texts the group chat, titled _MATTRESS STEALERS 2k19!!_.

Then he shoves his phone into his pocket, ignoring the several notifications he gets, and heads over to QSL himself.

Doyoung’s waiting for him at their usual table. There aren’t that many people in QSL right now, just a couple of second-years in the other corner.

“Mark, you asked to meet?” Doyoung asks, frowning slightly.

Mark nods. “Um, yeah.”

“There hasn’t been much of a problem with the last couple of psets,” Doyoung says, concerned. He rests his elbow on the table, twirling a pen in that hand. “So what’s the issue?”

The thing is, Mark actually _does_ have a question for Doyoung, so it’s really killing two birds with one stone.

Mark takes out the last problem sets, then turns back to his bag to grab a pen. Doyoung rifles through the sheets of paper as he waits. Mark can hear him as he pauses over a page or two, absorbing Mark’s work for the second time.

“Mark,” Doyoung begins. His voice is soft, as tender as a bird’s feather. “You’ve done well, over the past couple of weeks.”

“Really?” Mark asks, disbelieving. It isn’t hard to forget about his mathematical progress when he’s surrounded by people who can achieve twice as much as he does in half the amount of time.

 _“Really,”_ Doyoung says. “I can tell that you’re, uh, a bit of a perfectionist, but really—your mathematical rigor has improved tremendously.” He points out one of Mark’s proofs. “Like this one, for example. It was marvelous.”

“Thanks.” Even though he is a perfectionist, Doyoung’s right. Mark’s learned to accept that things might be messy at first before they begin to make sense. He’s learned to learn from every mistake.

Doyoung has to meet with another counselor, so it’s an hour later before Doyoung comes up to his room. All of them wait in Mark and Jeno’s room—Doyoung being their counselor, the two rooms are next to each other. They work on their problem sets while waiting for Doyoung’s reaction.

The door of Mark’s room is cracked open. Combined with the weak whirring of the fan and the lack of air-conditioning, none of them find it all that easy to do their problem set. Mark’s too pent up with nervous excitement, that sort of energy that needs to convert to a different form before it’s released through an outlet.

Finally, they hear Doyoung’s voice through the hallway. He’s walking with Jungwoo, already in animated conversation. His voice tends to carry anyways. Mark looks at Donghyuck, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder as they listen to Doyoung turn the knob to enter the room.

Doyoung’s scream of surprise shocks all of them. It resembles, in both pitch and volume, his high note during the Counselor Talent Show.

Mark rushes over to the door, ear pressed against the crack to listen.

“Mattress stolen?” Jungwoo asks, already half-way down the hall.

“Yes,” Doyoung says. He sounds frustrated, but more than that—slightly _amused._ “Who the _hell_ did it?”

Jeno starts to laugh, the rest of them joining in, and the combined sound of it reaches Doyoung’s ears quickly.

Doyoung marches into their room, arms crossed. “I can’t _believe_ you guys did this,” he says. His lips are twitching, threatening to form a smile, and the sight of it makes Mark laugh harder, bent over with his eyes crinkling.

Jungwoo walks over, Lucas quick behind him.

“We’ve taught them so well,” he says, almost cooing. Lucas laughs at the scene in front of him.

“You—” Doyoung begins. He doesn’t seem to be very surprised.

Jaehyun walks in, just out of the shower. “What’s going on?” he asks, running a hand through his wet hair.

Doyoung laughs. “These _gremlins_ stole my mattress.”

 _Gremlin?_ Donghyuck mouths, eyebrows raised. Mark shrugs, still recovering from laughing so damn hard.

“Where is it?” Jaehyun asks them, patting Doyoung shoulder.

Jaehyun helps them carry the mattresses back, Doyoung directing them as they move into his room. He complains when Jaemin doesn’t make his bed properly, leading Jaemin to shove the bedding onto his bed with an eye-roll.

Again, Donghyuck and Mark share a mattress to lug over.

It reminds him of the first time they carried the mattress together, the way Mark used to be ashamed of so many things. The fear of failure that Doyoung mentioned earlier comes to mind.

He’s better now. And the thought of that makes him smile harder than before.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

Mark’s starting to develop a habit of sleeping through lecture. He can’t help it. The problem sets are getting increasingly more difficult. Combined with all the shenanigans he’s been pulling with his friends, sleep gets shafted out of the equation.

Lecture is always a couple days behind the problem sets, anyway. The professor enjoys meandering while proving results instead of getting straight to the point. Yes, it’s more organic, and yes, it’s a good way to teach, but the end result is still the same: Mark resting his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder for just a moment, only _one moment_ , then falling promptly asleep.

It really do be like that sometimes.

Mark’s thankful for the fact that it’s finally Friday, at least. Sure, the weekend problem set, as always, looks twice as daunting as the regular problem sets they receive, but there are two lecture-free days in front of him when he can _sleep in_.

The day flows slow, as it always does in anticipation for the weekend to begin in earnest. The five of them head over to the library, too tired to make the long trek over to the music building.

Mark can barely focus on his problem set, eyelids heavy. Donghyuck, beside him, squeezes his hand.

He looks up. Mark’s still giddy-happy from their kiss a couple of nights ago, still smiling at random moments for no certain reason.

“You should sleep,” Donghyuck says, quietly. “You were barely awake during lecture.” Jeno, in front of them, is bent forward onto the table, head cradled in his arms. Jaemin’s steadfastly working on his problem set. Renjun’s probably at the bathroom or something.

Mark shrugs. “Don’t wanna go back to the dorms, though.”

Donghyuck gestures underneath the table. “My bag’s pretty comfy,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just join Renjun down there.”

Renjun’s napping _underneath the table_ , evidently comfortable as he sleeps on his Moomin plushy. His small body is wound up into a small, tight ball.

Mark squints at Donghyuck, unsure as to whether he’s joking or not. “Alright,” Mark concedes.

Donghyuck hesitates, before digging through his bag. “I have a sweatshirt,” he says, holding it out to Mark. “It could be a blanket?”

The plush carpet of the library isn’t that uncomfortable. Renjun’s nearby warmth manages to counter the freezing chill. Donghyuck’s sweatshirt feels nice around him, oversized and worn and sweet-smelling. It’s like being hugged by Donghyuck in clothing form.

Soon enough, Mark’s asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

With every Friday comes the Mandatory Fun. By now, there isn’t even a discussion of ditching—it’s their _second to last_ Mandatory Fun, they can’t miss out on it. They glibly give up their time to the lame “Mystery Treasure Hunt” the counselors organized.

Kun and Sicheng’s group, which serendipitously had Mark, Donghyuck, and Yerim on the same team, decides to ditch the hunt altogether. They end up at the nearest T-Baar instead, Donghyuck ordering for Mark again. It isn’t as good as the Kung Fu Tea they walked over a mile for, but it comes close.

Afterward, the five of them sprawl out in the floor lounge. It’s too hot to work, to even think. Somehow Yuta manages both: he’s typing furiously into his laptop, sitting in the floor lounge with them.

Mark imagines himself as a sloth, just dependent on eating leaves and having a low metabolism. That’s how it feels like right now, to be sitting here so sedately. Across from him, Jeno’s the one napping now. He’s angled awkwardly to rest on Jaemin’s shoulder.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Jaemin asks. He’s always one of the first to start musing about dreams and the future to come when the nights become stagnant and hot like this.

“What?” Renjun says. He’s on the other side of Jaemin, blearily rubbing at his eyes.

“Yeah, like, for real,” Jaemin says. He stretches, arms going around both Renjun and Jeno.

“I don’t know. Maybe architecture?” Renjun replies, shrugging off Jaemin’s touch with ease. “It’s too hot, don’t touch me.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, then pokes Renjun’s cheek lightly. “Seriously? Architecture’s cool, though. What about you, Mark?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Mark says. “I kinda want to major in pure math, but… my parents don’t really want me to get a Ph.D.”

Yuta looks up from his laptop. His rapid typing stops.

“I want to be a professor,” Jaemin says, “But yeah, it takes a lot of time.” That makes _sense_ , in a way. Mark can just imagine Jaemin as a professor, lectures fanciful and office hours surprisingly helpful.

“I’m surprised none of you guys have said anything about finance yet,” Yuta comments drily. His eyes are back to being focused on the screen of his laptop, but he hasn’t typed anything new.

“I’m interested in finance,” Jeno mumbles, lifting his head up for a moment. His eyes are still half-closed. “Or like, the quant analysis stuff, 'cause it makes a lot of money.”

“I thought most of my friends from here would go into pure math,” Yuta says. “But they ended up in quant or finance, for the money.”

“Well, you don’t care about money, do you?” Jaemin asks, looking over at Yuta intently.

" _Of course_ I don’t care about money," Yuta says, almost frustrated. He closes the top of his laptop. “I’m literally a counselor at a program that pays 3k for six weeks, _and_ I’m going to be starting my Ph.D. in mathematics in the fall. I’m so broke.”

“There’s a certain romance in that, I suppose,” Donghyuck says. He nudges Mark’s knee with his own subtly.

Mark still has a lot to learn about romance.

“And a whole lot of pain,” Yuta adds. He laughs it off. “But I guess I chose passion over money, in a way.”

“Not that finance jobs aren’t interesting,” Yuta rushes to say, eyes wide. “Like, I don’t know, if you really enjoy it, then that’s good.”

“Loving what you’re doing and making a ton of money… Isn’t that the dream?” Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck and Jeno nod.

“I don’t know… what I want to do as a job, for real,” Mark says slowly. “But I have a good idea of the person I want to become if that makes sense?”

“Yeah, like values to live by? Or resolutions?” Jaemin suggests. A value system. Like all of the properties of a ring, the axioms that he wants to live by. To be a better person.

“All of those have always gone to shit for me,” Yuta says. “Well. Actually, I think I’ve gotten a couple of things to live by just because of being here.” He smiles at that, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I kept coming back—as a student, then a counselor.”

“Yeah,” Jeno says. He’s fully awake now, his face no longer tucked into Jaemin’s neck. “I’ve learned a lot this summer.”

“Not just math,” Mark says. He looks at Donghyuck. “But other things too.”

“Me too,” Jaemin says.

For some reason, Donghyuck looks almost—troubled. He bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth for a couple of moments.

“I’m scared,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. Mark recognizes all the signs of trying to prevent tears to fall. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to a group of people, and I, ah, don’t want to lose you guys.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a while, Renjun heads off to his room, possibly to sleep. Jeno and Jaemin go to do their laundry, claiming that they don’t want to be like Mark and run their cycles at three in the morning. Yuta leaves too, claiming that he needs to start “actually working”. This is a common complaint from Yuta.

This leaves Donghyuck and Mark, together and alone. They head over to Mark’s room.

Mark pauses when they sit on top of his bed together.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “From earlier?”

Donghyuck’s hugging his knees to his chest, head down.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

Mark raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I mean,” Donghyuck says after considering it for a moment, “no, not really.”

Mark tries his best to recall the comfort Donghyuck has given him, countless times over, and envelops him in a hug. It isn’t a normal hug, not from Donghyuck’s side. He hugs Mark desperately like he’s trying to hold onto a kite being tugged in the wind, like he’s trying to grasp something that has already left.

Mark realizes, with a start, that Donghyuck’s _crying_. He rubs circles on to Donghyuck’s back, murmuring into his ears, hoping that it’ll help. Hoping that anything can help this sort of sadness.

Eventually, Donghyuck’s breathing slows. Mark lets go of him, regarding him seriously.

“Why?” Mark asks.

Donghyuck laughs, wiping at his eyes. “I cry easily, sometimes,” he says. “It’s—fine.”

“But _why_ ,” Mark says, insistent. His hands rub circles into Donghyuck’s back again, trying to be as comforting as possible. “I can tell it’s serious.”

“I’m worried,” Donghyuck bites out. “About what will happen after camp.”

Mark hesitates, letting go of Donghyuck. He stares down at his hands. There will always be things that he can’t do, that he is unable to fix.

“I’m not promising anything,” Mark says. His hands clench into fists. “Because… I have no idea what the future’s going to be. But—at least we had this, right?”

“At least, we had this,” Donghyuck echoes. It sounds slightly hopeful, in this empty room. In this too-small college dorm, with no air-conditioning, with the faulty light on Mark’s side of the wall, with everything as imperfectly perfect as Mark could possibly hope.

“Yeah,” Mark breathes out.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday is tiring. By the end of the day, Mark’s exhausted from working on the problem set the whole day. Usually, they take breaks during the afternoon. Jaemin’s usually the first to suggest that they play a game of frisbee or head over to Insomnia Cookies for no good reason.

Today, however, Mark was a man on a mission. “Let’s try to finish our problem sets today,” he told Donghyuck.

Donghyuck’s eyes were alight with excitement. “Why?” he asked.

“It’s a secret,” Mark said.

But he needs to call his parents once a week, and they’ve been doing Saturday nights for the past couple of weeks.

Mark sits on his bed, legs sprawled out so that they hang off the edge, laptop comfortably resting on his thighs. It burns hot on his legs—no doubt exposing Mark to radiation or something—but Mark doesn’t care about that.

Jeno’s on the bed across from him, scrolling through something on his phone. He’s waiting for Jaemin to finish showering. Apparently, the two of them planned to watch Spirited Away together tonight.

Mark’s interrupted in the middle of a thought when his mom finally accepts his FaceTime request.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Fine,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why they always ask the same questions. He always responds to them the same exact way. “How’s, um, everything back home?”

“Good,” his father replies. “And the problem sets?”

“I’m still working on them,” Mark says with a laugh. “And they’re still getting harder.”

His mother begins her usual flurry of questions, asking him about what he ate for breakfast and whether he’s been locking his door at night. Mark’s starting to get irritable. It’s _tiring_ to answer their questions, each one piling on the next like wave after wave of a tsunami.

“Maybe you should slow down for a moment,” his father says to his mom. Then he turns to face the camera.

“Minhyung, you seem tired,” he says. “Is everything alright?”

“I _am_ tired,” Mark replies, switching to Korean. He’s not sure if Jeno understands Korean or not, but hopes that he doesn’t.

His mother’s face softens. “We’re so proud of you,” she says. “You’re thriving at this camp, and you’re doing so well.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Yes, really,” she says, smiling. “We just—we worry, of course.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Mark says quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” his mom replies. “How could you not? We raised you.”

There’s pride in her tone, that unmistakable love and affection that shows through his parents’ eyes as he looks at the screen. It aches in his chest.

“I… thank you,” Mark says, sincere. For all of the nagging his parents put him through—it does come out of love. Jeno looks over at him and sticks his tongue out. Huh, he probably _does_ know Korean.

The rest of the conversation isn’t quite as bad as it had been in the past couple of weeks. Mark broaches the possibility of being a pure math major, possibly getting a Ph.D. like Yuta or Doyoung, and his parents aren’t against it. It’s surprising, considering the past vitriol his father’s had regarding getting a Ph.D. One of his father’s biggest regrets is getting a Chemistry Ph.D. instead of pursuing a more profitable white-collar career. 

It’s a step forward, one that Mark doesn’t expect. When Mark hangs up, he says “I love you.”

He thinks, maybe, he’ll be able to tell them about how he feels one day.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

It’s around noon when Mark wakes up, which is typical for him on a weekend. He has no idea how he’s going to adjust to waking up at 6 am again once the program is over. He lies there in bed for a moment, enjoying the morning sun streaming in through the window, before he remembers. Today’s the _day_.

He shoves his slippers on and walks over to Donghyuck and Jaemin’s room as fast as possible. The door’s unlocked, and Jaemin’s bed is empty—most likely these two things are related.

Donghyuck’s still fast asleep on his bed, body curled in on itself. Mark takes in the sight for a moment, internally cooing at how—sweet he looks—before striding over to his bed.

“Donghyuck,” Mark says gently. He pats Donghyuck’s head, hoping that will wake him up. “Come on, wake up.”

Donghyuck blinks awake, shifting around awkwardly in the way people do when they’ve just woke up. “What—Ah—?” he mumbles, tossing and turning. “Ah, Mark.” Donghyuck puts a hand over his mouth.

Mark squints at him. “Are you worried about how your breath smells?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says.

Mark hesitates, then leans over to brush a kiss on Donghyuck’s forehead. “I have a surprise for you,” he says. “Let’s go get brunch.”

Donghyuck’s eyes light up with excitement, and he sits up quickly, almost knocking his sheets off the bed. “What is it?” he asks. "Will you finally tell me?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “That would ruin the surprise,” he says, ruffling Donghyuck’s hair again.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you gonna tell me?” Donghyuck persists when they step outside. Mark blinks rapidly, adjusting to the sunlight.

“You’ll see,” Mark says. He reaches out to touch Donghyuck’s shoulder, placating him. “You brought your student ID, right?”

“Yeah, like you told me,” Donghyuck says, pulling it out of his pockets. He’s wearing the type of shorts that go almost past his knees, and it’s cute to see.

“Hopefully you’ll like it,” he mutters under his breath.

Donghyuck softens when he hears that. “I will,” he says. “And even if I don’t, ah, it’s the effort that counts, right?”

“I guess,” Mark says, dubious. They reach the nearest T station, which isn’t really a station—it’s more like a platform in the middle of the street.

He looks down at the screen of his phone. They’re going… outbound, yes. Mark’s pretty well-versed in public transport from going to New York City with his friends, and the T isn’t that bad compared to the New York subway system.

“Huh,” Donghyuck says, regarding the subway map on the side of the wall. He traces the route with the tip of his finger, inches from touching the surface. “I’ve never gone on public transport before.”

“Seriously?” Mark asks, surprised.

“Well, in Korea, sure,” Donghyuck says. “But in California, you have to drive to use it. Everything’s super inaccessible, and the stops are hella far apart.”

“So you just drive everywhere,” Mark says. “I guess that makes sense. In the suburbs, it’s like that too, but my parents take the train into New York for the commute.”

“How much does it cost?” Donghyuck says. He starts to rifle through his pockets. “I think I have a couple of twenties left.”

“Save it,” Mark says. “I’ll pay.”

“But—”

“The T doesn’t give change, when you pay on the train like this,” Mark counters. That’s what Jaemin told him anyway when Mark started to hatch this plan. “It isn’t a lot, anyway.”

There’s a moment of silence when Donghyuck looks down the track. The train doesn’t show up. According to Mark’s phone, they’ll have to wait a couple more minutes.

“Is this a date?” Donghyuck asks.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck says, flushing red. “I mean, ah, yes?”

“Of course it is,” Mark says quietly. He reaches out to take Donghyuck’s hand, giving it a small squeeze before letting go. “Sometimes… you’re so perceptive, but other times you’re so dense.”

“Like right now?” Donghyuck’s looking down at his feet, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes.” Donghyuck looks up at him again and smiles brilliantly.

“Ah, look! The train’s coming,” Donghyuck says. Sure enough, in the distance, there’s the distant shape of a train rumbling down the tracks. “Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

“Nope,” Mark says, feeling more excited with every second.

 

 

 

 

 

“Wait, is this—” Donghyuck breaks off, as soon as they step off the train. The station is close to where Mark wants to take him. “Holy shit.”

“It’s the MFA,” Mark says, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Do you like it?” He remembered that Donghyuck loves art—loves all things beautiful—and thought that going to the Museum of Fine Arts would be a good idea. He hopes he isn’t wrong.

“Holy shit, of course, I like it,” Donghyuck breathes out, turning to him. His eyes seem to glow with their frenetic energy. “I was planning to get my parents to visit here before we left, but _this_ is even better.”

“Entry should be free with students with an ID,” Mark adds, as they walk up the museum’s steps. The Museum of Fine Arts is a large, stately building, with white pillars and shallow steps worn down with age.

“Nice,” Donghyuck says. In contrast to Mark taking the steps two at a time, he bounds from step to step at a faster pace to keep up with Mark.

“And we can grab food or something afterward? There’s Kung Fu Tea nearby.”

“You put a lot of thought into this,” Donghyuck says. He isn’t surprised, but he sounds—like he’s observing something.

They’ve reached the top of the stairs. In front of them, the museum doors beckon to them as a lighthouse would to a ship in the sea.

“Of course I did,” Mark says, stopping to look at Donghyuck carefully. “It’s you.”

Thankfully, the student IDs work. The museum entry fee is waived for the two of them, though the worker in charge of ticketing gives them a suspicious look before she allows them to enter. Mark supposes that two teenage boys, dressed casually in math T-shirts, don’t seem like the type of people to enter an art museum on their own.

Donghyuck’s always been unique, to him.

“So where do you wanna go first?” Mark asks, unfolding the brochure they picked up. It has a map of the museum, along with a list of the museum highlights.

“Hmm,” Donghyuck says, sidling up to him. He rests his chin on Mark’s shoulder. “The impressionist stuff first, definitely. That shit’s world famous.”

One of the nearby employees gives them a look. “Shhh, don’t swear so loudly,” Mark says.

Donghyuck slaps a hand over his mouth. Like that’s going to help _after_ he says something.

“I’m excited! Sorry,” he says in a loud whisper. “Ahhh, this is so cool.”

Mark can’t help but smile at that. “Okay, let’s go to see Monet’s paintings.” They enter the mouth of the museum, and a hush falls upon them. The air itself seems to be composed of human wonder, of amazement.

Impressionism, out of all of the exhibits they view, ends up being Mark’s favorite. There’s something about the gentle blurriness of the colors, like a camera out of focus—the mere impression of a moment, all haziness instead of sharp details—that stirs something deep within Mark. He likes art, finds things awe-inspiring and interesting, but that’s nothing compared Donghyuck.

Donghyuck loves art. Even when it’s the kind of Abstract Expressionism artworks that Mark, personally, doesn’t comprehend. Mark doesn’t _comprehend_ Donghyuck, at some points. He never knew he would feel this much about a person. He never knew there could be this much beauty in one boy.

“This modern art shit is kinda weird,” Mark says quietly. They’ve stopped in front of a painting that’s more geometric than artistic, in his opinion.

“It’s supposed to be weird,” Donghyuck replies. His eyes remain fixed on the painting, roving over the surface in wonder. “Isn’t it cool, though?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. Sometimes, watching Donghyuck is the real exhibit. “That kinda looks like you.”

“It’s literally a bunch of squares, Mark,” Donghyuck says, finally turning to look at Mark. He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting off a smile. “It doesn’t look like anything.”

“No? See there?” Mark points to the corner of the painting. “Totally looks like you.”

“I don’t see anything,” Donghyuck says, tilting his head. He notices the guard nearby staring at them. “Wait, shhh, the guards are staring at us.”

That’s one thing Mark dislikes about museums. They’re trying their _best_ to whisper, and it isn’t like there are that many people in the museum beside the two of them. The number of times one of the employees have stared them down because they’ve been too “loud” is steadily increasing with the minutes passed.

Eventually, Donghyuck exhausts his seemingly endless interest in the arts. “I’m kinda hungry,” he says quietly, as they stand in front of a vase. Apparently, it was made in Korea approximately five centuries ago.

“Let’s go, then,” Mark says.

When they step out of the museum, Mark has to adjust to the late afternoon sun. The sky is a gentle light blue, cloudless. He turns to Donghyuck.

“Did you like it?” he asks.

“It was amazing,” Donghyuck says. “Thanks for taking me here.” The sincerity in his tone is unmistakable. He hesitates, before leaning forward and kissing Mark’s cheek quickly.

“Let’s go grab boba now,” Mark says. He can already feel the blood rushing to his face. “I still haven’t finished my pset.”

“Shit, me too,” Donghyuck laughs. When they go down the steps, both of them take it one at a time. They don’t need to adjust themselves to have the same pace.

“That’s okay, though,” Donghyuck says. “It was worth it, right?”

It was.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

 

After that weekend, the five of them become more panicked. Jeno takes to disappearing at odd hours, coming back with a sweaty sheen and a solemn expression: he runs to get the stress out. Renjun’s absent at some moments, too; he admits he’s too afraid to say goodbye.

One night, in the practice rooms, Jeno finishes the last notes of Claire de Lune and Jaemin inexplicably starts crying. They surround him, Donghyuck handing him his sweatshirt in hopes of providing comfort, Mark hugging him as hard as he can.

Jaemin’s afraid. They’re all afraid, keep holding onto the days desperately. Jaemin drags them to Chinatown one afternoon. They take the Green Line to Park Street and spend the whole day exploring the city and eating food instead of doing their problem sets. Falling asleep in lecture is no longer a question of Mark’s restraint. Instead, it’s a foregone conclusion.

They walk to Prudential Center a different day. The mall has only designer stores, nothing they can afford with their remaining twenty-dollar bills.

Renjun leads them to a Sephora. Carefully, he applies tester-tube blush to Jeno’s cheeks and gold eyeshadow on Donghyuck’s eyes. It’s worth all of the protesting Donghyuck and Jeno went through. It makes Donghyuck look even more precious and golden in the summer light.

Every day becomes an exercise in trying to make memories, to keep holding on. Every day becomes a lesson in trying to make the most of the moment.

Even though Mark reassured Donghyuck so easily— _at least we had this, right_?—he feels the same pressure. Because they _only have this_ , every moment must be interesting, must be memorable.

It’s a different sort of pressure from what Mark expects.

They still have problem sets to do, though, no matter how many times they procrastinate on completing it until it’s three or four in the morning. Sometimes, they still head over to the library for old times sake.

There’s a final, too, as it turns out. They aren’t as stressed out in preparation for it this time, though. It’s nice to work on math without caring about external things, like scores and expectations.

While Mark’s working on today’s problem set, Jaemin nudges his shoulder.

“Can you help with this question?” Jaemin whispers, pointing to a problem on the problem set.

Mark squints, skeptical. Jaemin Na asking for help? “Nah, you probably know how to do it,” he says, brushing it off.

Jaemin frowns, hurt. “No, I’m being serious,” he says. He rolls his eyes. "Imagine how you’d feel if you asked me for help and I was just like, _eh, you can do it yourself man._ " He imitates Mark’s tone perfectly.

“Okay, okay,” Mark says, sheepish with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” He hates the way his sensitivities show their ugly face at the oddest of moments.

After Jaemin solves the problem, he nudges Mark again.

“What is it?” Mark asks, eyebrow raised. He can’t imagine Jaemin needing help on another problem. The fact that he wasn’t able to do just one problem was amazing in and of itself.

“Don’t think for a second that you aren’t good,” Jaemin says quietly. Good, in this context, meaning _good at math_ or _smart_ or _pro_.

“What,” Mark replies. He focuses on the pen he’s holding, unscrewing the barrel so that all of the components spill out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jaemin’s eyes soften. “You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

Mark reassembles the pen together, but it doesn’t fit the same way when he puts it back together. Silently, Jaemin pushes the spring towards him.

“I admire you a lot,” Jaemin continues. “You’re, like, always on the grind, man. So diligent.”

“That’s because I _have_ to,” Mark says, frustrated. The pen works, with the spring, and he clicks it furiously. Jaemin doesn’t _get_ it. “I can’t afford to not.”

“It isn’t about _affording_ anything,” Jaemin replies smoothly. “You aren’t saving to buy a house. You’ve just got a _drive_ , and it’s amazing.”

“Maybe,” Mark says. It’s almost uncomfortable to hear such kind words. He can’t believe he was ever afraid of judgment from Jaemin Na, of all people. From Donghyuck, too. From anyone, even.

He looks over at Donghyuck, who’s been listening to their exchange silently. Their legs tangle together underneath the table.

“I can’t believe this is one of the last times we’ll be psetting, like this,” Renjun remarks. His eyebags have become so dark that he resembles a panda.

Jeno sighs. “Don’t remind me,” he says quietly, face twisting into something sad. Renjun pats his back reassuringly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll deal with this, somehow.”

Because every camp brings along with it the problem of saying goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

±±±

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you nervous?” Donghyuck asks Mark, during breakfast. It’s the day of the final—the last day of camp—but there’s none of the stress that was so obviously present during the midyear. Jeno’s flipping through his past problem sets leisurely, Renjun’s on time to breakfast for once, and Jaemin’s watching the two of them study, slight sadness in his eyes.

“No,” Mark’s surprised that it’s actually true. “What happens, will happen, right?” In the face of them leaving the camp in basically twenty-four hours, every other worry seems petty. These are people that he won’t be able to see for a while, maybe never again for the international students and counselors.

After finals, the professor returns. “Here I am, for the last lecture,” he says. “I hope you’ve learned a lot over the course of the past six weeks.”

Mark has. Not just about the integers. Yes, he knows now that every integer can be expressed as the sum of four squares, that primes are only a sum of two squares if they’re equivalent to one modulo four. But he also knows arguably more important things, as well. He thinks to Yuta, his bright eyes as he told Mark to pursue what he wanted. To Doyoung, who never gave up on his ability to improve. Mark thinks to Donghyuck, and Jaemin, and the others.

He’s thought deeply about the simple things in his life, the things he once thought were foundational to who he is. And for that, Mark will never stop being thankful for this summer. To these people.

Everything is tinged with a bittersweet sort of sadness. There’s the last lecture, the last lunch in the much-abhorred dining hall. Sure, the food is bad, but the memories always made up for it. The day passes by all too quickly, even without a problem set to preoccupy their thoughts.

Before Mark knows it, it’s time to head over to the last Mandatory Fun. It’s held in the same place Orientation was, and the issue of air-conditioning arises. The room becomes populated by an army of whirring fans, not that the temperature lowers all that much.

The theme of the last Mandatory Fun is an ice cream party. The tradition is for all of the counselors and students to pull an all-nighter and watch the sunrise over the Charles River. There are all sorts of flavors—from cucumber to a more traditional cookies-and-cream. The counselors hand out booklets, around as thick as one of Donghyuck’s AP prep books.

“These are a collection of all of the problem sets,” Taeil says. “There’s a special open-end problem set that we encourage you guys to work on throughout the school year.”

Jaemin flips through the pages, eye raised. “Interesting,” he says. He points to one of the problems on the open-end problem set. “Isn’t this one of the millennium problems?”

Mark shrugs. “Maybe you could be the one to solve it,” he says, nudging Jaemin.

“As if,” Jaemin scoffs. He runs his hand over the page gently, before shutting the booklet closed.

Donghyuck taps him on the shoulder. “Want to sign mine?” There’s an ample amount of blank pages within the booklet, and Mark belatedly realizes what they’re meant for. All around them, students and counselors are exchanging booklets and leaving messages within the pages.

“Sure,” Mark says. It takes a long time for him to select the right page. He wants to make sure that most people won’t come across the message while signing their name. It takes even longer to think of what to say.

 

> _Dear Donghyuck,_
> 
> _You’re someone who I never would’ve foreseen meeting. I told you that I once wanted to be a writer, right? Right now, I’m at a loss as for what to say. Thank you for showing me all of the things you find beautiful. To me, you are the most important of these things._
> 
> _Please keep in touch._

He hesitates over how to sign his name. Then, quickly, he signs _Love, Mark_ and shuts the booklet.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t read the message until you’ve left,” Mark says. “It’s—yeah. Just don’t.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, head bent over Mark’s booklet. He seems to be drawing, but he won’t let Mark look.

Yerim taps his shoulder. “Can you sign mine?” she asks, handing over a sparkly pink gel pen.

So begins a couple of hours of frantic message writing. Mark loses track of his own booklet pretty quickly, but he has faith it’s being passed around the counselors and students.

As Mark leaves messages—some for people he barely knows the names of—he’s hit with a burning sense of regret. There were so many people that he never got to know well, simply because he found a friend group so easily within the first week of the program.

Maybe that’s why he spends some of the last hours of the night with people he’s barely talked to.

When he steps outside for fresh air, Yerim’s looking out on the balcony. There isn’t anything much to see, though this late the night sky has truly begun to show. It’s nothing like the mottled gray-orange early evening sky—Mark can actually see some stars through all the pollution.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Yerim says. Her face is tilted up, more of a shadow than anything else in the poor lighting. “This’ll probably be my last year.”

"You could come back as a counselor,” Mark says. His eyes begin to adjust to the lack of light; he can make out Yerim’s features vaguely in the darkness.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Yerim replies. "I probably won’t be a pure math major, so.” She shrugs.

“Oh, really?”

“We’ll see how apps go,” Yerim says, with a defeated sigh. “You’ll be a senior too, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Mark says. There’s a world of things, of responsibilities and essays, that he has willed himself to forget about during the last six weeks. Now he’ll have to face them, as he applies for colleges.

“We’ll make it out alright,” Yerim says, turning towards him. “I think.” She hesitates before patting Mark’s shoulder gently. Then she heads back inside.

Mark stays where he is. There’s something about the expanse of the sky that lures him in. He’s afraid of facing his friends for the last time. He’s afraid of the sadness he’ll have to overcome when he walks in.

Another person steps outside. She lets in some light while opening and closing the door, and it hurts his eyes a little.

“Hey,” she says, waving gracefully. Every gesture seems so poised, coming from her. “Mark, right?”

“Yeah,” Mark squints at her. “You’re… Tzuyu?”

“Nice, you know who I am,” she replies, smiling. Mark’s relieved he got her name right.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, where both of them regard the night sky and the city below. The Citgo sign beams bright in the distance.

“Do you think you’ll come back for a second year?” Mark asks.

“Yeah, I mean,” Tzuyu laughs. “I’m just here to meet people, you feel?”

“Huh,” Mark says. He’s never heard anyone put it like that, at least not explicitly.

"I came to this camp already knowing the proof of quadratic reciprocity,” Tzuyu continues. "So really, I'm just here... for fun, I guess." Like Jaemin had. Maybe, weeks ago, this would’ve caused something dark to twist in Mark’s chest. Now he only nods in agreement.

“You’re here for your friends,” Mark says. That’s surprisingly earnest, considering the way most spend their summer as a mean of resume-building.

“Aren’t we all?” Tzuyu says. “There’s something about these people… you won’t find it in the outside world.”

“It’s precious,” Mark says. He understands, now.

"Yeah, that,” Tzuyu says.

“Maybe we should get back,” she adds. “I think—Donghyuck was looking for you?”

When Mark head back inside, Tzuyu right behind him, he finds Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Jeno clustered in a circle with some of the counselors. Renjun’s in the opposite corner of the room, talking to Lucas about something serious.

Tzuyu joins Renjun and Lucas, and Mark sits beside Donghyuck on the couch, half of his body resting on the arm of the sofa.

“I’m saying,” Jaemin says, voice loud with excitement, “that maybe the application set needs to be improved. Everyone knows it repeats from year to year.”

Johnny winces. “Look, I’m not the one in charge of this,” he says, weary. “The professors are.”

Yuta nudges Johnny. “Their opinions are useful, at least,” he says. “Right, Doyoung?”

Doyoung nods, looking up from where he’s writing a message on a booklet.

“Who’s booklet is that?” Mark asks. Leaning over, he can see that Doyoung drew a cat on the margins.

“Jeno’s,” Doyoung says. His voice softens while saying the name. “I’ve already done yours.”

“Sometimes I just wish I wasn’t a head counselor,” Johnny mumbles. “Taeyong would’ve been a lot more suited for it.”

Yuta softens. “You’ve done really well,” he says. “Honestly, I’m glad that Doyoung or I didn’t get it.”

Doyoung shudders at the thought. “Yeah, I barely could manage to grade these two’s problem sets on top of the research,” he says.

Mark tunes out of the conversation for a moment, scanning over the room. Renjun’s heading toward them, Yerim behind him. Tzuyu’s still deep in conversation with Lucas, Chaeyoung sitting with them. Tzuyu was right. This is something irreplaceable, priceless. Something he truly can never find anywhere else.

Jungwoo taps his shoulder, interrupting his train of thought.

“Can you sign mine?” Jungwoo asks, holding out his booklet. There’s a suitcase behind him, and his eyes are slightly red.

“Yeah, of course,” Mark says. He leaves a short message then looks up. “Which college are you going to, again?”

“Uh, Princeton,” Jungwoo says. He tries for a watery smile, but it wavers slightly. “You’re from New Jersey, right? Visit me if you want.”

“Are you going now?” Mark asks.

Jungwoo nods. “I’ve gotta—go say goodbye to more people—”

And just like that, Jungwoo is the first to leave. The sky is still dark when Mark looks out the window.

Not long after that, the sky begins to imperceptibly lighten. It’s time for the sun to rise.

The students and counselors trudge out of the dorms, the 5 am streets quiet, the sky blue-grey and as tired as their souls. Everyone’s worn out and sleepy from staying up all night. The five of them walk together, linked through holding each other’s hand.

Eventually, they make it to the water’s edge. The same docks Jaemin had led them to so long ago. Mark sits down at the pier, gazing down at the shiny ripples across the Charles River. The muddied water is the color of faded jeans, reflecting the cloudy sky above.

It’s the last morning they’ll spend together, the end of the last night they’ll ever share. It’s as if each moment is a grain of sand. He’s left desperately trying to cup them in his palms as the fragments slip through his fingers.

The sunrise is understated, a muted orange that spreads across the sky unceremoniously. Mark doesn’t know what he expected—he’s never seen a sunrise before.

They don’t talk much. It feels too much like a funeral, the downcast goodbyes, and hushed whispers.

Mark had watched the sunset every day with his friends, gazing out the tinted windows as the sky darkened into orange. They had sung aloud as they strolled through Newbury Street, laughed as they walked all over Boston, the setting sun golden across their faces. A sunset was beautiful and reoccurring like every day had been.

Something Mark too soon took for granted.

But sunrises—are special. Not the everyday, ordinary special that the end of the day brings, but the hope that comes with a new dawn. A new future ahead of him.

People begin to leave in earnest after watching the sunrise.

Mark hugs Doyoung before he goes. It’s the longest hug Mark’s ever had, Doyoung holding him in his arms for at least a minute.

“I’m so proud of everything you did,” Doyoung says, wide-eyed. He’s holding onto Mark like he hopes it’ll have a permanent impact on him. “Never— _never_ stop doing the things you love.”

He’s tearing up, for the first time that night. He wipes away the wetness hurriedly. There are more people to say goodbye to. Mark gives Yuta a hug, thanking him for every bit of advice he’s given; he high-fives Lucas as he’s about to leave.

Mark stares at the empty room in front of him. Merely an hour ago, it was filled with signs of life, with all of his and Jeno’s belongings. Now, it’s almost unsettling in its emptiness, in its anonymity. Anyone could have lived there, made a home there. Anyone _can_ live there, in the future.

His home isn’t his room, anyway. Mark’s home is four other boys.

‘Can’t believe it’s time to leave, huh,” Jeno says, fiddling with his suitcase. Everyone’s eyes are red from crying too much.

Donghyuck and Jaemin are still packing, Jaemin carrying out the remains of his 18-pack Milkis crate. “I ended up finishing them all,” he says across the hallway. The hall recycling bins are flowing with problem sets and papers and boxes.

Renjun watches Jaemin in silence. “I couldn’t even bring myself to recycle my scrap paper, you know,” he says. He hides his face in his hands for a moment. “It’s—” he breaks off.

Donghyuck is the last to leave his room, lugging his suitcase behind him. The five of them take the elevator down to the lobby.

It isn’t long before Mark’s parents call, right on the dot. It’s 9 am.

Mark’s the first to leave out of the five of them, and in a way, it’s relieving. He doesn’t think he’d be able to watch people saying goodbye and leaving him.

Mark hugs Jeno first. “We’ll see each other again,” he says. It isn’t a promise; it’s certain. They have math tournaments to catch up at, and Jeno’s planning to go on a college visit to Princeton soon.

Next, he says goodbye to Jaemin. “I learned so much from you,” Mark whispers into his neck.

“No, you,” Jaemin counters with a smile. A tear drips down his cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

It’s hard to say goodbye to Renjun, in a way. His face remains impassive as he hugs Mark as if trying to will every emotion away.

“Keep in touch,” Mark says. “Especially if you need to rant, and stuff. I’m a good listener.”

Something in what he said must have reached Renjun, because he begins to sob, tears dripping into Mark’s chest. Mark strokes his hair gently, trying to stop any tears of his own.

The tears come, for the second time, when he hugs Donghyuck. He doesn’t want to let go; he can’t let go; he needs to let go.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Donghyuck says, choked up.

“That’s difficult,” Mark says, lips soft against Donghyuck’s ear.

“It’ll be okay, won’t it?” Donghyuck asks. It’s the most vulnerable question Mark’s ever been asked.

“Yeah,” Mark says.

Donghyuck smiles, tear-stained. A bittersweet goodbye.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay.”


	4. EPILOGUE: FERMAT'S LAST THEOREM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the commenters suggested i write an epilogue with all of the messages left for mark. here it is:
> 
> additional clarification: HMMT/PUMaC are math tournaments held at Harvard/MIT and Princeton, respectively

Mark Lee! What a guy! You are so much fun and always down to steal a mattress or two... much appreciated. It sucks being the first one to leave this year but at least I was able to give two summers of my life here. You're so sweet and your friends were a riot (that fuck marry kill conversation... damn). Thanks for making these past six weeks special! - Jungwoo Kim

 

 

 

Mark,  
I find myself struggling for words here. You are one of the most thoughtful people I’ve met here, and I really enjoyed talking to you, psetting with you, making music with you, etc. I’ll never forget all the times we spent together on the Charles River. You and Donghyuck are pretty cute ;) Singing "Grenade" with you for the talent show was definitely really memorable... 

We were able to talk about a lot of things and in terms of what’s in store for us, in the future… I’m not sure what’s out there, but I hope that it will bode well for both of us. I need it to be. 

Please stay in touch, I’ll be at HMMT (either Nov or Feb, depending on how registration goes) so catch me if you’re there. If you’re ever in Texas (unlikely but… who knows?) then shoot me a text. Hopefully, we can return for another year too and teach the first-years how to steal mattresses heh

With love (yikes),  
Renjun

 

 

 

MARK!!  
Ayyy it’s Lucas! I had a lot of fun mattress stealing w/ you and hopefully, I’ll see you around at mathcomps and all… good luck for college apps heh we’re both reallyy going through it huh! You were super fun to be around and really nice ! I’ll miss you lots

Also, I definitely recommend coming back for a second year!! It's so much fun to come back and do math research and talk to first-years and I don't regret it at all ;;

Catch me at PUMaC and HMMT Feb!!

— Lucas Wong/Yukhei/Xuxi! Keep in touch xx

 

 

 

hey mark,  
it was really fun being your roommate :o we both shared in suffering from the burning heat didn’t we ^_^ you’re so smart and fun to hang with !! i’m… well, these past six weeks have been the best weeks of my life, and in part it’s thanks to you. so thank you for making music with me (even when jaemin was critiquing which key i played in lol) and hanging out and just talking! hopefully we’ll meet in the future (i’ll def be at HMMT/PUMaC/etc ++ i want to return here next year too!!)

you’re the type of friend that i want to hold onto for a long time. i feel like… sometimes, in high school, we surround ourselves with people that we kinda-sorta-like just because we see them five days a week? but you, this, the five of us together — that isn’t like that at all. i believe in choice, not fate. and i chose you.

keep in touch okay? I gave you my discord/snapchat/fb/etc. for a reason lmao. here’s to meeting in hopefully only 3 months n__n

and i know you had to deal with all of us being weebs but i hope you can listen to unravel and snow halation and all of the other osts we played and think of me and jaemin goofing off on the piano n__n

love, jeno ^-^

 

 

 

Mark, you’re pretty chill to hang around. For real though, talking to you was fun! I'll be at the usual math competitions so feel free to say hi if you see me, alright? You and your friends were really cool. Don't be a stranger! — Yerim Kim

 

 

 

Mark! I know we didn't interact much aside from the occasional mattress being stolen... from my room... but I've heard really good things from Jungwoo and Doyoung. You and your group of friends were really fun to be around~

\- Jaehyun Jung

 

 

 

MARK!!  
Honestly, I have too many feelings to be put into words right now. How do I say this? I’ve learned a lot from you, even if you would say the opposite. Hanging out with you, running with you, talking with you, singing, all of it—I’m going to miss it so much. I know I should be used to this, especially since we went to the same camp last summer, but it’s hard. The worst part about these past six weeks is having to say goodbye so damn soon. Every summer I think I'll get used to it, but then... yeah nope! Let's come back for another year, yeah?

Running with you in the mornings was pretty hype too, especially when we added in Lucas and Jeno!! We should go on a run again sometime haha #jocksquad

Hopefully, in a couple of years, we’ll all be able to be at the same college together or something (unlikely, yes, but a guy can dream…). But either way I’ll definitely be at PUMaC/HMMT and I live legit 20 min from Boston so… if you’re ever around, just message me!

I’m so glad I met you and you mean a lot to me. I love you a lot, Mark.

\- Jaemin

 

 

 

Hey Mark,  
Our late night conversations in the floor lounge were rewarding. I don’t regret staying up late to talk to you guys — and I hope my advice, even if inapplicable, helped at least somewhat. I know it sounds really stupid, coming from an ""adult"" like me, but I'm serious when I say that the college application process/what you major in will turn out alright in the end. After all, you're a strong mathematician with a great sense of rigor and reasoning (Yes, I heard all of this from Doyoung; he's quite proud of you). Come back next year! And if you end up majoring in pure math, then definitely consider applying to be a counselor. It's six weeks of the most underpaid, sleep-deprived fun you'll ever have. 

Keep in touch too~

-Yuta

 

 

 

Dear Mark,  
I will try my best to make this readable despite my atrocious handwriting. To be quite honest you are one of the brightest students I’ve had. Even though we started off a little rough in the beginning, you worked so hard to improve as a mathematician. Your rigor is superb, and more than that, your tenacity is admirable. May you keep continuing in your mathematical journey.

Good luck for all of your future endeavors! Stay in touch. I have no doubt that you will succeed in whatever you do. Though, of course, I hope that you will turn out to be a pure math major... not that I do not approve of applied math as well. That's also a perfectly fine career choice. It's just that pure math is superior. 

I hope to see you return to the program someday as a counselor. You would certainly be suited for it.

Regards,  
Doyoung

 

 

 

Mark, I guess you and all of your friends were pretty nice to talk to heh ;;___;; I wish we hung out more over the course of the program! At least we were able to share a few words on the last night… that’s what last nights are for right? To make up for all the regrets we have? Not to be fake deep or anything, I'm serious. You're one of the people I just can't meet anywhere else, even if we didn't talk much. — Tzuyu 

 

 

 

Mark,  
This is really difficult to say. It’s hard to find words to represent something that’s intangible, that’s almost—bigger than anything I can fathom? From the first day we met, I guess we just clicked. There’s something about talking with you, about spending time with you, that feels so easy and comfortable. It’s so easy to lose track of the hours when I’m talking to you, whether it’s about favorite books (remember to check out Siken’s poems!!) or the differences between West coast and boring old New Jersey (just kidding!! But west coast best coast for real haha).

You’re so different from me, I guess, but at the same time, it’s like these differences make it work? Does that even make sense? Thank you for the best six weeks of my life. I don’t think I’ll ever forget you, forget us. Even if we don’t meet again (unlikely), or we meet again and it just isn’t the same (likely), or we meet under completely different and bad circumstances (slightly less likely), I’ll keep you in my heart. Damn, that sounds cheesy as fuck lmfao. Also, visit NorCal and say hi to me Thanks. Also, listen to "YOUTH" by Troye Sivan, it makes me think of you a lot.

Remember when we played Truth or Truth? Remember when we stole Doyoung’s mattress and he got super mad? Remember when we screamed into the night, out across the Charles River? Don’t forget any of this. I’m trying my best to remember everything as well. You're someone that is hard to forget, regardless. 

Love,  
Donghyuck

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are really, really appreciated. this fic was my lifeblood for all of february (lol) hope you enjoyed & thanks for reading
> 
> [twt](http://twitter.com/mathmxrk) / [cc](http://curiouscat.me/mathmxrk) / feel free to leave concrit [here](https://markohmark.dreamwidth.org/2671.html) / [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/fullmoonjournal)


End file.
